


Una Notte A Napoli

by AlexanderRyan



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:51:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 120,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1716167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexanderRyan/pseuds/AlexanderRyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spamano. Third person POV. One night in Naples, by the moon and sea, my heart was stolen by an angel who had forgotten how to fly. (Full plot can be found in the header.) Rated M for foul language, sexual implications, strong hints to mental illness, and other adult themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One: The Wingless Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! So, uhm... This is a fanfiction that I've been working on for the past few days. My first Spamano one... (Though most certainly not my first fanfiction, haha~) I'm kinda excited for this one. I'm really liking how it's coming out so far and I just can't wait to write even more! It's going to be seven chapters long. So look forward to that, I suppose! Oh and... This fanfiction is based off a song by the same name, and can be found on YouTube. Well, then. Enjoy!
> 
> Translation for the song Lovino sings can be found at the end.
> 
> Full plot description: Antonio visits Naples with some old friends, Gilbert and Francis. During a drunken night, Antonio finds himself at the beach to hear a gentle song being carried upon the breeze. Atop a balcony is a man Antonio deems as an angel, but alas, as soon as this 'angel' spots him, he retreats back into the house, leaving Antonio to stand there, alone. The next day, they run into each other again - quite literally - and to apologize for being drunk and staring that night, Antonio offers to buy Lovino lunch and a sweet. Lovino begrudgingly agrees and thus, romance sparks. The problem? Antonio's only in Naples for a week.

Laughter echoed through the cramped bar filled with smoke and the stench of alcohol. Slurred words rang out and mixed together, creating a jumble of sounds accompanied with the clattering of glasses and the stomping of shoes. Music blared from the old jukebox shoved against one corner, Italian words spilling out and adding to the cacophony of noises. Round tables lined the edges of the dimly lit structure, drunken patrons hooting and hollering from the balcony above, to their friends who danced the night away - quite poorly, one would add - on the makeshift dance floor. The bartender himself seemed to bounce along to the beat of the older songs as he busied himself with fulfilling the needs of his guests, most of them being the very Italians that called this city their home. It was rare to find a foreigner within this shabby little bar, for it was mostly known to those who frequented often, its service traveling by word of mouth rather than by advertisements and flashing signs. From the outside, it hardly looked like it could hold itself together. And yet it had, and as rumour had it, it was the best place to stop by and have yourself a drink. Even if you were a foreigner, you were welcomed as though you were family, the intoxicated regulars treating you as one of their own.

Antonio quite liked it. Everything he had seen about this city thus far, he had enjoyed - and he was only a week into his vacation here. He laughed and sang with the patrons - albeit quite off key and not even remotely matching the words. He had even gotten up a time or two to dance with a lady here and there, when they dragged him out to the dance floor. Normally, he was one to just sit and drink and chat away the night with his friends, but seeing as how Francis was insistent that he find a special lady friend this fine evening, he didn't quite have the choice of just sitting there. Not that he minded. He quite liked to dance! He enjoyed it, it was one of his favourite pastimes! But when you can't tell left from right, or even if you're dancing with the same girl as you were before, it could become a little confusing.

The Spaniard let out a breathy laugh as he collapsed back into his chair, his shirt clinging to the curves of his body due to the sweat that glistened on his skin. His olive complexion was flushed pink, his heart hammering within his chest. He wiped at his brow with the back of his hand and swiveled in his chair. "Wow, who knew Italian girls could wear you out this much?" he spoke with another laugh as he reached for his drink. The Frenchman beside him grinned as the German clapped him on the back and congratulated him on his success. But, of course, it was soon followed by a taunt of how Antonio hadn't once asked any of these girls for a private dance. Who knew the albino could be so straightforward when intoxicated? He let out a chuckle before he took a swig of his drink, the glass thudding against the bar table when he answered his dear friend, "You do not know anything about Italian women, mi amigo." He gave a toothy grin and shot a glance over his shoulder. "If they can tire you out this much with just dancing, I worry about how much energy they'd have in bed!"

Though tonight, he wasn't thinking about something like that. Those kinds of thoughts hardly entered his mind anymore, and frankly, neither did they take over Gilbert's. Usually he could confide in him with that sort of thing - even if Gilbert could be quite the flirt under the influence, in his own way - but it seemed that tonight was not one of those nights. Gilbert seemed to deflate at the response, before letting out a loud laugh and swinging his beer in a wide arc - and thus spilling a good portion to the ground. Not noticing his fallen comrade, he turned to address the Spaniard beside him. "You say that about Italian girls, mein Fruend, but what about those Spanish girls?" he pointed out with a thick German accent, his words slurred. He prodded at his friend's chest. "They're just as... ah, what's the word... crazy as Italians! Have you ever seen them drunk? Never. Again."

Antonio snorted as he batted away the hand poking at his chest, catching the glimpse of a smirk out of the corner of his eyes. "Like your German girls are any better."

Gilbert huffed at this and straightened himself in his chair, squaring his shoulders and tilting his chin skyward. He held a proud, arrogant air to him as he declared, "They aren't meine German girls. They're mein Bruder's. I come from a-"

"-a long line of Prussian blood, sí, sí, I know," Antonio finished for him with a roll of the eyes and amused chuckle. "I've heard it a million times before, Gilbert, I don't need to hear it again."

"I've said it once, und I'll say it a million times!" Gilbert announced, "I'm Preußischen! Und I won't... I won't-!"

It was then that Francis slung an arm around his albino friend, giving a wide grin as he cupped his chin in one hand. "Oh, mon amour, must we fight? After all, we're surrounded with Italy's finest women, non? Shouldn't we... bask in the glory of being in the beautiful country of Italie?" He brought his face closer to Gilbert's, fingertips tilting the other's face toward him.

Of course, Gilbert was having none of it and growled in frustration, using the palm of his hand to push at Francis's face. "Nein! What the hell are you doing, ya stupid Frenchy?" he shrieked. But alas, it seemed that Francis was already set on his intentions, puckering up his lips and trying to land one on Gilbert through his fingers. Fed up with the Frechman's actions, the self-proclaimed Prussian huffed and slid out of his stool, leaving Francis to nearly topple over. Surprisingly, even in his drunken state, the other seemed to be able to right himself just fine.

As Gilbert stormed off, shouting that he was going to dance and forget all about Francis's 'perverted advances', said blond focused to his Spanish friend and gave a wink. A mouthed 'thank you' and Francis was sliding into Gilbert's unoccupied chair, thin fingers curling around his wine. "Well, that was easy."

An amused smile wound its way onto Antonio's lips as he rested his head in his hand. "It was, sí. Maybe you should do that more often? More preferably before I go deaf again from him yelling at me?"

Francis gave a hearty laugh and clapped his friend on the back. "Maybe next time, mon ami, maybe next time."

A chuckle escaped from Antonio as he took a sip of his own choice of alcohol - brandy. A comfortable silence settled between the two, though the sounds continued all around them. And if Antonio listened closely, he could hear Gilbert's arrogant claim of being able to take on three different guys at arm wrestling, with his hands tied behind his back. How that one worked, Antonio would never know. He almost had half the mind to actually ponder the possibility, if it weren't for Francis speaking up once again, a curious gaze directed toward him.

"But seriously... I _am_ curious. You've danced with so many women tonight, and yet you haven't made a single move on any of them. And when they try, you seem to slip away back to us. Why is that, Antonio?"

He pondered this for a brief moment. Had they made a move on him...? He didn't even realize. A roll of the shoulders and the glass was at his lips again. "I dunno," he mused, his eyes focused on nothing in particular, "I guess none of them really caught my eye. To be honest, I hardly even remember their faces." And the alcohol was traveling down his throat.

It didn't for long. Leaning forward, Francis instantly blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "Could it be... you swing the other way?" At those words, the Spaniard found himself inhaling sharply, accidentally taking the alcohol with it. The glass returned to the tabletop with a heavy _thunk_ and he was hacking up the burning liquid, a fist pounding away at his chest. Francis leaned back, an amuse smile playing along his lips. "Not that I mind, of course. Love is love, oui? But if you had told me sooner, I wouldn't have thrown all those girls at you! Why, I know quite a few handsome guys you could-"

"No, no, that's okay," Antonio interjected as soon as he could speak again. He cleared his lungs from the rest of the alcohol and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's not like that."

"You sure? I know this gorgeous British cutie who-"

"Francis. It's fine. Seriously."

Francis let out a disappointed sigh. "Well, if it's not that, then what is it?"

Once again, there was that shrug. His gaze focused on his drink, yet he didn't appear to truly see it there. "It's... hard to explain..." His lips settled in a delicate frown, his head tilting ever so slightly in piqued curiosity. "As I said, none of them caught my eye. I didn't... _notice_ any of them, you know? There wasn't that kind of... spark."

"Aaaah," Francis let out a sound of understanding, lifting his glass to twirl the dark liquid inside. A knowing smile played along his lips as he eyed his dark-haired friend. "Then you are looking for love that lasts, not love for a night."

A pause. Antonio tilted his head at the notion, green orbs surveying the other out of the corner of his eye. A gentle laugh as he hunched over his drink, suddenly feeling sheepish. "Sí, a lot like that..." Was it a childish notion, to be looking for that kind of thing...? Antonio sure thought so.

The Frenchman raised a questioning eyebrow. "It never bothered you before."

Antonio gave a loose shrug and occupied his attention with his drink once more, finger tracing along the rim. From behind him, he could hear a few crashes and the triumphant shouting of his oh-so-wonderful 'Prussian' friend. Wow. So he actually managed to win the arm wrestling match... Or so the Spaniard assumed. "I was young and stupid," he pointed out. It seemed that Francis had nothing to say, offering merely a short hum. And so, he continued, "I'm not looking for something like that anymore. I had my fun, and I admit, it was a lot of fun when we were just running around, skirt chasing. But that was back in college."

"Gilbert is still _in_ college. We're not past that yet," Francis reminded as he took another sip of his wine.

Antonio chuckled. "You do have a point," he agreed. He eyed the other, a smirk crossing his lips. He playfully elbowed his friend. "But I don't see you chasing skirts anymore. Flirting, sí, but not sleeping with every beautiful girl you run into."

A laugh resounded from the Frenchman, but it was soon replaced with a wistful smile. "Oui, I suppose you are right in that. But I haven't given it up completely, you know. I'm just a little more... conservative with my choices now."

"Doesn't mean you still do it as often as you used to."

"Ah, mon ami... There are many things we must grow out of with age..."

Antonio snorted and gave his friend another shove, a playful twinkle in his eye. "Hey, don't start that 'growing old' speech. I don't want to hear what it's like to be an old man just yet."

Francis's hand flew up to cover his heart in mock pain. "Mon Dieu! You wound me so, mon ami! And here I thought we were brothers sharing the same fate!"

The Spaniard laughed and gave an arrogant smirk. "That's where you're wrong, mi amigo," he spoke, the last phrase taunting as it slipped from his lips, "I'm a year younger than you. Therefore, no matter how old I get, you'll still be the old one. And look at you, you've got grays already!"

Feigning shock and anger, the Frenchman scoffed and batted away the hand reaching toward his beautiful golden locks. "Non, that is unacceptable! I do not have grays! And even if I did, I would still be as gorgeous as ever! With how little you take care of your skin, you will have wrinkles long before I do!" he proclaimed, earning a laugh from the brunet. After a short moment, Francis joined in with the laughter, and as soon as it died down, he cast his friend a smile. "But... Antonio... Do try to have fun. I know life has been rough for you, and I'd like to see you use this time to finally relax and have fun again. It's been... quite a while since I've seen you smile as brightly as you used to, mon cher ami."

Antonio's lips pulled upward in a thankful smile. "Gracias, Francis, but I will be okay. I'll try to have fun. I promise," he answered. And, of course, right then, he could hear angered shouting and, as fate would have it, the arrogant and boastful replies of his friend. And cue the crashing and banging and hooting and hollering. He knew full well just what those sounds were. The beginnings of a bar fight. With a roll of his eyes, he directed his gaze to the source of the chaos and, sure enough, there was Gilbert, right in the middle of it all. He cringed at the cracking of wood. The bar owner would not be happy about the loss of a table... He turned an expecting eye back to Francis.

"Hey, don't look at me. It's your turn."

Letting out a heavy sigh, Antonio slid out of his seat. "Fine, I'll get him. But you're paying for the damages."

Alas, it just so happened that his thought process held true... The bartender was most certainly not pleased by the state of his poor table, and thus, the three had been forced to leave - and leave a portion of Francis's money behind as payment, as promised. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. In fact, it seemed that Gilbert had gotten himself into this kind of mess quite often. Usually, he wasn't one to start fights, but with his arrogant and boastful attitude, fights always seemed to find him, much to the despair of Antonio and Francis. Granted, Antonio had, on a few occasions, joined in, and he will admit that he quite enjoyed those random fights, but it was always rather disappointing to no longer have the atmosphere all around them. Antonio had grown rather fond of that bar, with its older Italian music playing and the patrons so curious about them and their respective homelands...

Nonetheless, there was no room for him to mope around. It seemed that after the adrenaline had died down, his friend could hardly even walk on his own. Not that Antonio was in any better shape, given how he, too, was clearly intoxicated, judging by his stride and his slurred manner of speech. But with how Gilbert was walking, there was no way he'd make it back to the hotel on his own. Thankfully, he had Francis there to help him, and together, they lugged their heaviest friend down the streets of Naples. How much time had passed until they actually shoved their key into the lock, Antonio didn't even know. He just noticed the moon so high up in the sky, the stars twinkling away above. And damnit, he could've sworn he saw that street before...

As soon as he was inside, he deposited the self-proclaimed Prussian onto the couch, where the albino happily curled up, already fast asleep and mumbling something about wurst. Heaving a sigh, Antonio let his body collapse beside the couch, letting a chuckle bubble up from within. He threw a lazy smile to his friend, who kicked off his shoes and threw himself on the bed. "Wow, what a night, huh?"

The Frenchman, already peeling off layers of clothing and tossing them aside, let out a laugh in response. "Oui," he replied, forcing himself to sit so he could rummage through the luggage that had been thrown haphazardly on the bed prior to their departure this morning. From within, he retrieved a simple pair of sweatpants. "So sad that we were kicked out of another one, but I suppose you live and you learn~!"

A breathy laugh escaped the Spaniard's lips as his eyes wandered to the TV not too far off. "That's what happens when you bring Gilbert along. How many drinks did he have, anyway?"

Francis paused with one leg in the wrong side. After switching it around, he responded, "I don't know, I lost count at five."

Antonio hummed, impressed. "Wow. Didn't know he made it that far. I could've sworn I only saw his glass refilled only twice."

"You were also dancing away with the ladies, am I right?"

"I was still watching."

"Mmhmm, and I didn't kiss a lovely maiden on the hand even once tonight," Francis deadpanned.

"Hey, don't put it like that! I kept looking back."

"Non, you were pretty out of it. You were having a lot of fun out there." The Frenchman threw himself back onto the bed, wriggling his way up to the headrest so he could prop himself against it. "Not that it's a bad thing, Toni. It's a good thing you had so much fun. It's been a while."

Antonio found himself hesitating before giving into Francis's words. "Yeah, okay, maybe I went a little overboard with the dancing..." he mused with a lopsided smile. He pushed himself up, having to steady himself on the couch before padding forward, leaving the snoring Prussian alone to his dreams. "But you have to admit, we Spaniards sure know how to party," he pointed out with a smirk and a wink.

Francis snorted in response, toeing off one of his socks and flinging it at his old time friend. "I'll admit something as stupid as that if you get me a glass of wine."

"Why would I-"

"You're already up. I'm watching TV." And as that last sentence was spoken, the TV suddenly flickered on, leaving Antonio to realize where the remote had disappeared to. Oh right. That's what he stood up to get.

Huffing in resignation, Antonio opened the mini fridge and took out the small glass of wine, looking to the label. Deeming it as good enough, he snatched up a glass from the desk the fridge was stored beneath and tossed both to the bed, earning a shocked shout from the Frenchman, who proceeded to scold him for being so reckless. He rolled his eyes and cut into the middle of the rant with a, "Dios mío, Francis, calm down already. I made sure they wouldn't hit anything, or even each other." The Frenchman, grumbling away and mimicking his friend's words in a high-pitched voice, popped open his bottle of wine and poured himself a glass.

The fridge door was closed with a foot as he walked toward the door, pocketing his key card and cell phone "I'm going out for a walk. It's a nice night and I haven't seen Naples under a full moon before," he told. With a short hum of acknowledgement from Francis, Antonio left the hotel room, after assuring that he still had his keycard safely tucked away in his pocket.

He let his feet guide him, making sure to keep a mental note on exactly where he was going. Sure, it was a bit difficult for him to, given the state of his mind, but he knew he had to make it back sometime tonight. After all, he didn't want to wake up in the morning to find himself lying on some random park bench. Or worse... A jail cell. He shuddered at the thought. There had been at least three times in his life where he had woken up behind bars with no recollection of how he even got there in the first place. ... Or was it four? He couldn't quite recall, everything was rather hazy at this point in time. But, he did know this: It was _not_ a fun time for him. Took quite a bit of convincing and apologizing in order to actually prove that he was sober enough to leave... Thankfully, they had only been holding him for the night.

His thoughts fled from him as he continued to walk down the streets, wandering on to other topics that just decided to pop up. Things that weren't quite worth mentioning, and often, they would wander back to the starry night sky high above, or the lack of people wandering this part of town. His hands shoved in his pockets, he continued, a light bounce in his step. Somewhere along the way, it seemed that he had even steadied out his stride. It only slowed, however, as he descended a few steps and found himself walking on sand. He hummed lightly at the realization, his attention being drawn by the sneakers still on his feet. ... It wouldn't hurt.

A quick glance around and he was slipping off his shoes, tucking his socks away within. Granted, it was a bit difficult, considering that his body decided it was time to sway as he was balancing on one foot, but he still managed to get them off nonetheless. Letting them hang from his fingers, Antonio stepped forward, the cool sand sliding between his toes. It reminded him of his long nightly walks on the beaches of Spain, his homeland... A wistful smile tugged at his lips. Yes, that was something he missed greatly about his old home... When life was easier, when his troubles only consisted of rejection and essays, he could just walk right down to the beach and hike up to that secluded place, where the moon would reflect off the rippling water far out at sea. Those gentle, rolling waves would sing him lullabies and lull him to sleep, only to awake with the sun rising the next morning. The sea had always been an escape for him, and for as long as he could remember, he always felt such a strong connection to it. It was truly no wonder how he had winded up here, of all places... He was, admittedly, surprised that no one else would be here.

The crashing of the waves vibrated within him, soothing his nerves and singing that sweet lullaby he knew so well. Green eyes watched as the moon reflected off the rolling waters, dancing and bouncing ever so slightly. The stars, too, seemed to dance in time with the large, white orb. With the sounds of the city left behind, mostly due to the sounds of the waves surrounding him, he breathed deeply, just as the breeze rolled in to bring the fresh, salty air of the ocean. Vaguely, he wondered if he should pay that old place a visit... His old sanctuary, where the ocean would continuously sing, all the way 'til daybreak. No. He couldn't... He no longer could visit that old place, no matter how much he wanted to.

He smiled at the memories, his feet slowing to a stop. Perhaps sometime, he should take Francis and Gilbert out to see this wonderful view... It was truly a beauty, after all. But would they even appreciate it...? Francis might, but knowing him, he would crack jokes about ladies the whole way. About how romantic it would be take a stroll with your loved one. Gilbert, on the other hand... Antonio breathed out a sigh. Perhaps it wasn't best to bring them... They would completely miss the beauty that this place had to offer. They would only taint the beauty of the moon's silver rays casting down from above. And with such a clear night... Yes, it was heaven, even if he were the only one here to enjoy it.

His eyes slid closed as he stood there, letting the sounds wrap him up in a gentle, caressing hug. The wind ran its fingers through his hair and filled his nostrils with the sweet scent of the sea. With the warm air, he almost felt like lying down right then and there to fall asleep. He wanted to succumb to the sea's lullaby, not to be awaken until morning. But he knew it was not something he could do. While he could do that at his old home, there was no way he could possibly do that here. Not with there being so many houses lining this part of the beach... And with his drunken state... No, it certainly was not a smart idea.

_"Come stai, come sto_  
 _Maledettamente bene_  
 _Penso a te, penso a noi, e non vivo piu'..."_

His eyes slid open. That was... a song... But where was it coming from...? Last he checked, he was all alone. Curious, Antonio glanced around, and out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of white, fluttering in the breeze. He tilted his head up toward the balcony not too far off, focusing his gaze on the white curtains that billowed out from glass doors. The moon's light seemed to intensify the colour, glowing brightly against the dark night all around. And when the breeze changed direction, the curtains fell back into place. The Spaniard's heart failed him.

_"Fore sei, abile_  
 _A nascondere il dolore_  
 _Forse no, non lo so, ma ti aspettero'..."_

An angel. That was the first thought that came to mind. He was captivated. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't tear his eyes away. He couldn't move. There, standing atop that balcony, was a man, a far off gaze directed somewhere far across the ocean. The moon's light seemed to shine on only him, softening the curves of his face and shimmering off dark locks. His stance was casual, with his arms folded over the balcony's parapet, leaning over the side as though he could spread wings and fly away at any time. Yet at the same time, that same stance almost seemed to be... a defeated one... The breeze toyed with the edges of his clothes and the tips of his hair, carrying a soft, deep voice along with it and giving more to the illusion that he could fly. But with that kind of gaze... it almost appeared that he had forgotten how to. He looked to long for the breeze to carry him away, but there were no wings sprouting from his back to allow him.

_"Guardami, sono qui_  
 _Tra l'inferno e il paradiso_  
 _Non so piu', che anno e', cerco solo te.."_

It was such a sad song, Antonio realized. The words were lost to him, save for a few here and there, but he could tell just by the way they were sung that it was not something to feel content with. He swallowed, his lips forming a thin line. Such a beautiful angel, singing such a sad tune... Did he truly want to fly away so badly...? He wanted to help. He wanted to help this angel fly. But how could he even do that...? He stepped forward, his lips parting. His words were lost to him, however, as the moon's light change direction ever so slightly to reveal the traces of tears rolling down those round cheeks. Somehow, it came as a surprise to him. Such a beauty, crying so openly... And now that he listened to that sweet voice, he could hear the slight tremble it held. The fingers hanging off the ledge curled and uncurled, as though it would help contain the tears.

_"Tutto sa, di follia_  
 _Ma e' solo malinconia_  
 _Vedo la realta' e vorrei che fosse una bugia..."_

He was moved. This wingless angel... This song... His hand lifted to hide his mouth, his eyebrows furrowing as tears welled in his eyes. There was such emotion behind those words. Even if he couldn't understand them, he could understand the emotion behind them. Such pain, such sorrow, such... loneliness... He wanted to wrap that angel up and whisper words of comfort to him. Even if he had never seen him before, even if he had never spoken to him, even if he would never see him again... He wanted to assure this angel that everything would be okay. That there was someone - _anyone_ \- who actually cared. Even if it was a complete stranger who did... But he couldn't even move. He could only stand and listen.

 _"In nome dell'amore..._  
L'alba brucera'...  
Le porte della tua prigione...

_"In nome dell'amore...  
Voglio dirti che ti amo..."_

_Ti amo_. He knew what that meant. It was nearly the same in Spanish. That phrase alone sent a shock through him, forced his breath to hitch. _I love you_. To hear such words... Sung in such a sorrowful tone... He wanted to know what it was about. But as soon as that line left the angel's lips, it seemed as though he was suddenly aware of the presence watching him. Antonio watched as the head swiveled left, then right, then finally at an angle down to the beach.

Their eyes met. In the light of the moon, the green of the other's eyes was unmistakable. Antonio was shocked into complete silence. Once again, he found he was unable to move. His gaze refused to tear away. The angel abruptly straightened, one arm wiping furiously at his eyes as a frown etched into his lips. As soon as it fell, there was a glare that sent shivers down the Spaniard's spine. The angel fled from him, disappearing with the house as glass doors slammed shut, hiding away both curtains and angel.

Antonio could only stare for a moment longer, his heart fluttering in his chest. ... Such a beauty... A smile wound its way onto his lips.

And when he returned to the hotel, he could only speak of the beautiful angel he encountered that night, claiming that 'she' had stolen his heart - only to be accused of being drunker than he thought and having a shoe throw at him by a disgruntled Prussian.

* * *

_"How are you, how am I_  
 _Damned good_  
 _I think about you, about us, and I stop living..._

_"Maybe you're skilled_  
 _To hide the pain away_  
 _Maybe not, I don't know, but I'm gonna wait for you..._

_"Look at me, I'm here_  
 _Between Heaven and Hell_  
 _I don't know what year it is anymore, I only look for you..._

_"Everything is touched by madness_  
 _But it's only sadness_  
 _I see the reality and I wish it were a lie..._

_"In the name of love..._  
 _The dawn will burn..._  
 _The doors of your prison..._

_"In the name of love...  
I want to tell you that I love you..."_


	2. Day Two: Fell Back to Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, cool! I actually did another chapter! I am so happy I actually got it done. I am... Surprisingly, extremely interested in finishing this one. It's already fully planned out and everything. Well. Hope you enjoy this chapter! Many thanks to the ones who proofread this!

It would take a complete and utter fool to not notice the lively air that seemed to follow Antonio wherever he would go. Ever since he had awoken this morning, it seemed he had been in quite the high spirits. From the moment he woke up, he had even thrown open the curtains and roused his friends from their slumber with a sing-song voice and an even cheerier attitude. Gilbert hadn't been too pleased at the sun's morning rays, and had groaned and turned his back to the room, but at least Francis was appreciative of his friend's sudden turn-around. And to the self-proclaimed 'love expert', he knew exactly why - that 'angel' from last night. Even if Antonio didn't speak a single word about the Italian he had seen standing upon that balcony, Francis _knew_. Oh, how he knew... And yet, Antonio himself, he denied it. After all, there was no such thing as love at first sight. No, he was just happy that he could actually _feel_ something like that again. For the longest time, he thought that such emotions were lost to him - intoxicated or not. And to have such strong evidence that he could in fact _notice_ someone for once... Well, it was reason to celebrate!

Much to Gilbert's relief, Antonio had left the hotel early that morning - and alone, seeing as how his two friends were currently recovering from last night's alcohol adventures. He couldn't count how many times the one on the couch would grumble for him to shut up while he ranted away on how Italian mornings were always so beautiful. And now, he walked the streets alone, with a basket bouncing at his hip. He figured that if he wanted to celebrate, then perhaps he should do so with one of his favourite fruits, something of which he used to grow when he was a child. He smiled fondly at the memory of his most prized garden, of the ripe, red fruit he treasured so. Vaguely, he wondered why he had ever stopped growing them, but as soon as he did, the answer came to him. Instantly, he dismissed it. It was not time to think of something like that. No, instead, he focused on the familiar feeling of gathering the fruit, though he knew he would not be picking them this time. He would be traveling to the local market, thankful that the outdoor market would actually be up and around this time of year - and with fresh tomatoes, all for him.

He weaved through the crowd with practiced ease. After all, something like this wasn't uncommon in his home town. He could remember sweltering summer days where he would run through the streets, weaving in and out of the bodies pressed so tightly together. Admittedly, he'd have a piece or two of fruit stashed away in his shirt, fruit of which came at a five-finger discount. He chuckled at the memory, a smile playing along his lips. Ah, yes, those were the days... He was never caught, for he was always so much faster than everyone else. The men who yelled after him, who tried to chase him down and make him pay for the fruit, would never be able to catch up to him, not with how thin and lanky the boy had been in his teenage years. It most certainly helped him slip between the bodies of the other people. And not to mention how fast he could _run_ -! Yes, yes, he remembered now. He let those memories resurface, of the days he spent swimming and running, tree climbing and bike riding. And when he had entered into high school, the days filled with joy and laughter, his two best friends at his side. Oh, the fun they would have... Often, they would join in on his marketplace endeavors - or at least, Gilbert would. Francis would merely just chuckle and claim that he never saw the two in his life, choosing instead to flirt with the women in the area.

They were lucky to have each other, Antonio realized, given their backgrounds. But, he supposed, that was what happened when you had families who traveled so much. It seemed to bring them together. While they could not attend the same high school, they most certainly spent many days and nights together, under the summer sky. Aah, how he missed those days... They were so simple, so carefree, so fun... And if he was lucky, he wouldn't have to be alone during the school year, either.

The sight of the delicious red fruit was more than enough to pull the Spaniard away from his memories, his smile widening into a grin as his eyes caught sight of them. He made his way through the crowd, his footsteps light and quick as though he were performing a dance, and slowed before the stall. The man grunted at him in recognition of having a customer, speaking a few Italian words of greeting. Antonio paused for a moment, trying to process what was being said, but laughed nervously when he realized he could not understand. A sheepish smile and the words, "Non parlo italiano," fell from his lips. With a roll of the eyes, the man switched his speaking language to broken English. It wasn't Spanish, but considering it was the common language between Gilbert, Francis, and him, he most certainly understood it. He gave a wide, toothy grin and a reply. Soon enough, he had made his purchase, the basket being filled with his prizes.

With a gentle hummed song slipping from him, the foreigner began to make his way through the crowd once more. The summer sun bore down on him, and yet it was not quite warm enough for the folds of his clothing to being clinging - only barely stick. Wow, this truly was reminiscent of his time spent as a kid... He chuckled at the thought, eyes glancing to those who gave him questioning stares at his sudden show of amusement. He merely gave them a grin in return, but alas, while being distracted by doing so, it seemed he hadn't noticed the smaller form flying toward him. Though, he wouldn't have noticed it in the first place, given how the form was quickly darting in and out of the sea of bodies. Not until it collided straight into him, just as it did now.

A startled yelp and his precious fruit was sent flying into the air. Men and women all around them parted from the confusion, ducking out of the way of the tomatoes that fell to the ground, each one with a horrifying _splat_. Distraught, Antonio watched as the last of his precious fruit destroyed itself on the concrete, all from his lovely front row seat on the ground beside them. ... With a weight sprawled across his waist and legs. The Italian curses and accusations caught his attention instantly, the voice strikingly familiar. And when he glanced down, he noticed that the shifting weight was in fact a man, untangling himself from Antonio's legs and sitting up, cheeks coloured red and fury dancing brilliantly in bright green eyes. And... oh... Tomatoes decorating his white shirt. Alas, that was a detail long forgotten by the Spaniard. For as soon as he looked into those eyes, his breath caught in his throat.

_**This was the angel.** _

He remembered it clear as day, the angel that stood atop that balcony, a sweet, sad song dancing from his lips as the moon's rays spilled out over him and illuminated only him. He truly was a beauty. Now, Antonio wasn't a fool. He could tell love and he could tell admiration. And he most certainly knew that even if he found this man attractive, it was, most certainly, not love. No, he had merely been drunk that night. ... And yet, he was just as beautiful as he had been the night before... The Italian growled and shouted once more in his native tongue, posing an angered question to the one who just so happened to not speak a lick of the language. Of course... An amused smile twisted onto Antonio's lips as he merely just listened. So angry... Who knew that someone could be so angry with him, when they were the one who ran into him in the first place?

This only seemed to irritate the man further, his cheeks darkening a few hues and his body straightening. Once more, Italian shouts poured from his lips. Antonio hummed and spoke up, "You do know that I don't speak Italian, sí?"

As soon as the question left his lips, the Italian seemed to quiet, an understanding coming to his eyes. Even that frown seemed to fade momentarily, and as Antonio had just noticed was even there in the first place, the fist that was just about to lash forward had lowered. Warily, the Italian eyed him, analyzing him. Then he snorted and spoke in Italian once again, then added on something that Antonio actually _did_ understand - though it was the annoyed tone that still had him confused. "Non parlo inglese." _I don't speak English_. Well. This was interesting.

Shouting caught his attention. As soon as the shouts reached Antonio's ears, so did it seem to reach the 'angel's. Thin shoulders tensed at the sounds, his head turning to glance behind him. "Tch." More Italian shouts from the smaller man as he reached out and shoved Antonio aside, sending him sprawling out on his side. He made a move to stand up, but as soon as he put pressure on his foot to stand, he let out a shout and collapsed to the ground once more. The shouts grew closer. Words that Antonio recognized as curses poured from the Italian's lips. Once again, he tried, and this time, he succeeded in standing.

It was a sad sight, really. And now that Antonio could take him in, he realized just how much that crash had wounded the man. Not only was there now tomato decorating his clothes, but there were now scrapes on his knees, and clearly his ankle was not in a good shape for running. Antonio wasn't stupid. He could very well put two and two together. This man, for whatever reason, was running away from the shouting men, but alas, he couldn't due to his injuries - the most notable being the ankle, no doubt sprained, but clearly not broken. Oh, and he fell again, seeming to have stepped on the wrong side of his foot. At least this time, he had only fallen to a knee.

Heaving out a sigh, the Spaniard pushed himself up from the ground and rolled his shoulder. Now that he stood, he could see the crowd beginning to part. The men were closer now. He knelt before the 'angel', ruffling his hair and giving a reassuring smile. As he had expected, his hand had instantly been batted away. "Just leave it to me, okay?" he spoke calmly. His smile fell and he straightened, turning to face the men breaking through the crowd. Uno, dos, y... tres... Three men, clearly not police officers. Unless, of course, the policemen of Italy decided it would be proper to wear dress shirts and slacks. They slowed at the sight of the Spaniard gazing so casually at them, their eyes flicking to the one he stood before. Italian shouting. He heaved out a sigh, shoulders sagging and head tilting. "Doesn't anyone understand that I _don't_ speak Italian? I don't even look Italian! I'm Spanish, dios mío!"

Well, seemed that they didn't care. For as soon as those words left his lips, the men charged. They only seemed to care about one thing; the one Antonio had already made the decision to protect. No matter.

His smile died instantly, his expression falling into a more serious one. He brought his fists up and danced out of the way of the first swing, arcing his foot around to land a hit on the first guy's side. Success.

The man stumbled into the one next to him, their limbs tangling and sending them sprawling to the ground.

Antonio spent no time watching them do so, instead turning to block a punch directed toward him by knocking the arm out of the way just before it could hit, his other fist flying forward to deliver a punch to the jaw.

The man staggered a few steps and Antonio turned back to the other men who steadied themselves and prepared to lunge.

He had prepared for this. He kicked up a piece of the poor, destroyed fruit and sent it flying toward one of the men, using it as a sort of momentary distraction so he could swoop in and deliver a blow to the gut of the other. He ducked under the arcing swing of a punch, dancing back a few steps to avoid leaving himself open for any other blows.

At least he had one down... Two to go...

Or so he thought.

"BEHIND YOU, IDIOTA!"

The shout was enough to make him aware of the men who had come onto the scene. He quickly spun, but alas, it wasn't fast enough. A flash of sunlight glinting off the steel of a blade and the sharp sting of a fresh cut to his arm indicated the use of a weapon.

Two more men had arrived, much to his dismay, and it seemed that both of them were armed. He brought his knee up to collide with the new man's stomach, lacing his fingers together and bringing his elbows down onto the back to send him sprawling across the ground.

The flash of a blade caught his eye, and time seemed to slow as he watched it draw closer. He spun, but he knew he would not have enough time.

The blade would hit. And with where it was aimed, he doubted that he could skip out from a hospital visit.

But lo and behold, a smaller form appeared out of the corner of his eye, barreling into the man and throwing him off balance.

At the same moment, one of the original men came charging at him, fist raised.

Antonio didn't have time to dodge once again, and the painful slap of knuckles against his cheek resounded. He staggered a few steps, the air knocked out of his lungs as he felt a kick to his stomach. His feet tangled together and he collapsed to his rump. Seeing the man arc his leg toward him again, he quickly rolled to the side to avoid the blow, lifting his foot to deliver a kick to the hip to knock him off balance.

His eyes searched and after a brief moment, he found the one he was supposed to be protecting - pinned underneath one of the knifemen, the knife being drawn closer as the smaller struggled to push the hand away.

From this distance, he could see the lips moving, but couldn't quite make out the words that were being said. Not that he'd understand in the first place...

He quickly pushed himself off the ground and dodged the next attacks, ignoring the pulsating pain of his cheek and nose. A punch to the face, a blow to the gut, a knee to the groin... All of it, it seemed that he did on his own, without a single thought put into it. He could hardly feel himself being in control of his own body, as though he were merely watching it run through the motions. He felt strangely calm, and yet, at the same time, infuriated.

This man... He was going to kill someone, right in front of the people of the marketplace. And damnit, it pissed him off!

A kick to the side sent the man tumbling off the 'angel', and Antonio reached a hand to him. Without a single moment of hesitation, his offer was accepted and he hoisted him up. He glanced over his shoulder to find that a few of the men were starting to get back up, and he could hear the shouts of more people coming to the scene mixing with the confused and startled shouts of the innocent patrons of the marketplace. He flashed a grin to his charge. "Time to go," he spoke in an all-too-cheerful tone. He ignored the confused and startled Italian shouts as he hoisted the man up and over his shoulder, holding tightly on the legs.

And he ran. As fast as his legs could carry him, Antonio _ran_. He kept a tight grip on the Italian slung over his shoulder, eyes darting this way and that for any opening in the crowd. He weaved through the bodies with expert grace, thankful of all those years of dance he had taken in his youth for his quick reflexes. He ignored the dull ache of his stomach, the stinging of his face, the throbbing of his arm. He ignored the shouted protests and the way that the man struggled in his hold, though it seemed that they soon died down the farther he ran. He fled from the marketplace entirely, darting into one of the many alleyways and traveling through the streets. And when he could no longer hear the shouts of the men far behind him, he finally slowed to a jog, his chest heaving and sweat running down the curves of his face.

He jogged the rest of the way to a nearby bench, slowing to a stop and carefully placing the man down. Hot air escaping from his lips, Antonio collapsed next to him, slumping against the back. "Dios mío, what a weekend-!" A breathy laughed escaped from him, his lips twisting into an smile. He tilted his head back, eyes staring up to the sky as a hand wiped across his brow.

From beside him, the Italian scrutinized him, subtly inching away as to widen the gap between them. "Are all you Spanish bastards crazy?"

"Are all you Italians liars?" Antonio shot back, his tone laced with strong hints of amusement as he eyed the one beside him.

He stiffened and spat out indignantly, " _Che cosa?_ "

"You lied."

"The fuck did I lie?!"

"I thought you didn't speak English."

A pause. "Tch." Humiliated by his own actions, the Italian glanced away, hands balling into fists. "Yeah, well that was before you decided to get your ass kicked."

"You're welcome."

"I didn't fuckin' thank you!"

"Wow, what a mouth you have there!" He laughed. "I forgot to bring the soap!"

"Tch, you-"

"Why were those guys after you?" Antonio cut in. All traces of his smile was gone. Silently, he pleaded for this man to not make him regret his decision. For all he knew, he realized, he could have deserved it. Or at least, deserved to be captured. Killed? ... Not so much...

Silence. It seemed that the anger had faded from the Italian, leaving behind cautious suspicion. He leaned back against the bench, his eyes narrowing. "... Why do you care?"

He gave a casual shrug. He turned to look ahead of him, enjoying the breeze that rolled by. "No reason. Just making sure I didn't just become the number one enemy of the mafia."

The Italian seemed to choke on his words, his eyes widening as he leaned forward.

"Hey, you can't blame me. I'm from España. I can't lug a grudge back with me, that just doesn't fit through the airport these days."

The man snorted and crossed his arms, leaning back once more. "No, you didn't fight guys from the mafia. Not every Italian is a part of the damn mafia."

"Then who were they?"

"None of your damn business."

"Why were they after you?"

"Who the fuck cares?"

"I do, and I'm not leaving until I get my answers."

"Tch. You're really fuckin' stupid, you know that?"

Antonio flashed a smile. "Try stubborn."

"Same fuckin' thing."

"Well, I _am_ Spanish."

"The hell does that..." He heaved out a sigh and shook his head, rubbing at his temples with the fingertips of one hand. "Whatever, I don't care. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, alright? You don't need to know anymore than that."

"Hm." Well. It was good enough for him. Whatever it was, he could tell by the other's gaze that it wasn't something he should pry about, and most certainly not something that was the stranger's fault. No one looked that troubled and irritated if it was truly their fault for what had happened... And if he looked even closer, he could see the traces of fear. He was trembling... His lips formed a thin line at this observation. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. Well. Time for a change of topic, then. Flashing a smile, Antonio spoke up again, "So, what did you say, anyway?"

"Che?" Once again, there was that judgemental gaze. Antonio decided to dismiss it.

"When I said I didn't speak Italian, you said something, then said you didn't know English. Which, you obviously do."

The Italian snorted, his chin tilting toward the sky as his eyes narrowed. "I said, you're that damn pervert."

Okay, that threw him for a loop. Blinking in baffled confusion, he spoke, "¿Perdón?"

A roll of the eyes. "You were the one starin' at me last night, aren't you? Fuckin' pervert."

Oh. That. The Spaniard let out a laugh, running his hand through his hair. And for a moment, he thought he had accidentally copped a feel while they were fleeing. He diverted his gaze, almost sheepish. So he remembered that..."Ah, sí, that... That was me." His eyes snapped back to the Italian, his palm held out toward him. "But I promise, it's not what you think!" he spoke quickly.

"So you _weren't_ just sittin' there, watchin' me like some fuckin' pervert?"

"No! Well... Sí. I mean... Augh-!" He let out a defeated sigh, hanging his head as he rubbed at the back of his neck. "J-just give me a chance to explain, okay? Before you run off." A glance toward the Italian and he could see the blank stare, the lips twisted into a frown. His eyes flicked down to the injured ankle. "Oh. Right. Uhm..."

The Italian snorted, rolling his eyes. "Just get on with it already! You're takin' too long!"

"Alright, alright, calm down!" He gave a lopsided smile, lacing his fingers together again. "I was drunk that night. I'm visiting Nápoles with some-"

"Napoli."

"... ¿Perdón?"

"It's 'Napoli'. If you're gonna say it, say it right."

"... Uhm... Right... Napoli. So, uh, I'm visiting... _Napoli_... with some friends, and we were visiting a bar. We had a few drinks, and long story short, I was walking around on my own. I found myself at the beach, and, well... When I saw you, I was drunk."

"That still doesn't answer why the fuck you were watching me."

Antonio paused for a moment. He couldn't tell the truth... That he thought the other was an angel that night, something which clearly wasn't the truth, given his rather filthy manner of speech. He coughed, glancing away. "I was drunk. I shouldn't have even been out. I was confused why there was someone suddenly just standing there, singing. I didn't notice you were even there before you started." Well... It wasn't exactly a lie... But it wasn't the full truth, either. At least it seemed to satisfy the other's taste for answers.

Letting out a short hum, the Italian kicked out his good leg, carefully placing his bad ankle atop it. "So now you're just some creep who decides to show up the day after."

Antonio gave the other a sheepish smile. "If I didn't, you would have been carved up."

Green eyes narrowed. "If you didn't get in my way, I wouldn't have."

The Spaniard blinked. "Wait... Are you saying it's my fault?"

"Of course it's your fault! You got in my fuckin' way, and now not only did I ruin my good shirt, but I missed my damn interview and twisted my ankle!"

He could only laugh. He was actually being blamed for this... Wow, he never thought he'd see the day. His fingers ran through brown locks as an amused smile took over his lips. "You're really an interesting one, but, uh, I wasn't the one who ran into you. If I remember correctly, you ran into me. Quite literally."

"I still say it's your fuckin' fault." A pause. "You're bleedin'."

Antonio's eyebrows furrowed. Oh right. Fight. Got it. And judging by where the other's eyes had locked, it was on his face. Ah, yes, he was punched, wasn't he? Carefully, he lifted his hand to press his fingertips against his skin, just below his nostril. When he pulled them away to look, sure enough, there was red dotting the previously clean area. "Huh. Guess I am. Wouldja look at that..."

"... Really? That's all you have to say?"

He shrugged, pulling out a handkerchief from his back pocket. "What else am I supposed to say? I was just in a fight, and I admit, I wasn't on the winning side. There's bound to be blood." Carefully, he wiped away the crimson liquid staining his face. No wonder he had the taste of iron in his mouth... Thankfully, it didn't seem that he had bled too bad, just enough for it to cover a portion of his cheek. He pulled the handkerchief away and turned to look at the Italian with a questioning gaze. "Is it gone?"

A nod, and Antonio worked away at cleaning off his arm, the Italian already speaking away. "You seem a little too used to this."

"Eh, that's what happens when you're friends with someone like Gilbert," Antonio replied, flashing a smile.

The Italian's eyes narrowed, his eyebrow arching. "Gilbert?"

"One of the friends I was talking about. It's not important." He waved his hand in dismissal, pocketing the handkerchief now that its services were no longer needed. "More importantly..." His head tilted, looking to the Italian out of the corner of his eye. "Mind if I make it up to you?"

"... What do you mean?"

"Well, so far, our meetings haven't been very," he paused, looking for the right word, "pleasant. Perhaps I could treat you to some lunch to make up for this whole mess?"

The Italian snorted, chin tilting up once more. "And what makes you think I'll-"

"I'll pay," Antonio cut in. Oh, yes, he most certainly knew the ways around ordeals such as this.

Silence. At least the other seemed to be considering the idea, toying with it in his head. An accusing finger pointed toward the Spaniard. "Throw in some gelato and you have yourself a deal."

Antonio grinned widely. "Then consider it a date!" he chimed.

"Say that again and I'll castrate you," the Italian growled without missing a beat.

A chuckle vibrated from Antonio's throat at the threat. He knew that he probably shouldn't have, but he couldn't help it. This man... The way he spoke... It was rather appealing. He knew they were just empty threats. If anything, he mused, the man would just storm off in a huff. ... If he could, that is. But given his current predicament, he would probably just hop away. That was an amusing thought in itself, the mental image of the feisty male hopping away on one foot, spouting Italian curses. "Alright, alright," he spoke, "It's not a date. Just an outing, sí?" The Italian snorted in what Antonio assumed to be agreement.

He pushed off from the bench and it seemed that the stranger moved to do so as well, yet he stopped when Antonio knelt down before him, his back to the Italian. For a moment, there was silence. The Spaniard could only imagine the blank stare directed toward him, and even that was enough for him to smile in amusement.

"... The hell are you doing?"

Ah. Finally. He laughed, tossing a grin over his shoulder. "You can't walk, right? So why not carry you?"

"I don't need your damn charity."

"Then do you want to try walking all the way on your own? Last I checked, we entered the residential area a few blocks back."

Silence. Those lips pulled into a thin line, and then a sneer.

"If you like, I can carry you over my shoulder again."

Carefully, the man lifted himself from the bench, balancing on his good foot. And soon after, Antonio felt a cautious weight press against his back, arms slipping around his shoulders. Giving a toothy grin, he hooked his arms under the other's knees. Ouch, those scrapes certainly looked bad... He straightened, mindful of the extra weight as to not tip them both over. Truthfully, he was surprised that the Italian was even agreeing to something like this. Last he checked, the man didn't exactly have a very pleasing outlook on the apparent pervert. Not that he actually was one, of course. In fact, he considered himself to be far from it.

"Well, then, here we go." With those words spoken, Antonio started off. He kept his gait slow as to not disturb the ankle too much, and to avoid being scolded by the one on his back. Much to his surprise, the other had gone completely silent by now, and if it weren't for the warmth pressed against his back, he would have completely forgotten about his presence all together. Though, he had to admit, this was rather... nice. He could recall the days where he would ride his older brother's back through town on the days he couldn't walk, whether it was due to a twisted ankle or a scraped knee. Vaguely, he wondered if this was how his brother had felt, or if it was a completely different feeling altogether. After all, he didn't know this stranger.

Now that he thought about it... He knew absolutely nothing about him. Just his face. Not even his name... He spared a glance over his shoulder to see that the other was faced away, his eyes seeming to be interested in something else. ... Funny... Was that a light dusting of pink colouring his cheeks? Perhaps it was just from the heat? Or the embarrassment of being a grown man and being carried through town? ... Most likely one of those two. Or at least, Antonio assumed that he was a grown man, judging by his voice. He tore his gaze away and focused on what was ahead of him, stepping through the streets. He couldn't bring himself to speak, not just yet. He knew where his feet were leading him, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to speak up to let the other know.

He found comfort in the silence, of actually being able to help someone out. Even if it was at the cost of his poor tomatoes... At least it seemed that the Italian had somewhat cleaned off his shirt, save for the stains that no doubt would stay. How to even wash those out... Perhaps he should apologize? No, he couldn't. It wasn't his fault for doing that. Oh, he was already opening his mouth, "Lo siento."

"Che?"

Right. Spanish. He chuckled. Sometimes he didn't even realize when he slipped into the language. "I'm sorry," he translated. Silence. A few more steps and he added on, "For ruining your shirt."

The Italian was silent for another moment. Antonio could feel eyes on the back of his head. "Hmph," he finally let out. He could feel the weight shift against him with the noise. "Finally you apologize for that."

"I don't even get an 'it's okay'?"

"No, because my shirt is now ruined because of you."

Antonio laughed, his lips tugging into a grin. "Fair enough. But either way, I am sorry. I'll buy you a new shirt."

"You don't even know what size I wear."

"I don't know your name, either."

He was met with silence. Then, so soft that he could hardly hear it, "Lovino."

He smiled at the name, testing it on his tongue. He quite liked it! Somehow, it just fit the other. Granted, he had never heard a name like that, but perhaps that's what made it rather... special. Lovino... "Well, nice to meet you, Lovi!" He let out a yelp as the Italian's head collided with his own, stumbling forward a few steps. "Did you just head butt me?" he exclaimed.

"I said my name was fuckin' Lovino, not Lovi, bastardo!"

Antonio found himself laughing, the sound airy and light.

"Stop that! Don't laugh! It's Lovino, damnit!"

"Alright, alright, I get it! It's Lovino! But I have to say, I'm surprised."

"And why the hell is that? You makin' fun of my name?"

"No, no! Not at all, I like your name. It's just... I didn't think you'd actually tell me your name."

Lovino snorted. "And why wouldn't I? If I didn't, you'd come up with some stupid nickname for me, wouldn't you?"

Antonio flashed a grin over his shoulder. "Probably," he answered all too casually. Of course, it was met with a glare. He could only chuckle at it, but seeing as how Lovino had no words to respond to that with, he merely just continued on. "I'm Antonio."

"Tch. Like hell I'm callin' you that."

He raised an eyebrow. What else would the man call him...? He dismissed it, for it seemed that they were getting close to their destination. He grinned at the sight of the small resturant, men and women seated at the tables lined up outside. Perfect, there were still a few left. He had seen this place during one of his previous adventures with Gilbert and Francis, on one of the other days they had decided to wander around to see what Naples had to offer. He had quickly become distracted by the smell of the place, but no matter how much he actually tried to convince them, they wouldn't agree to his selection. But with Lovino having no say on where they went (considering that Antonio was the one carrying him), he would finally have his way.

He heard a short hum from the Italian as he walked toward the restaurant. "Hm?"

"You actually managed to pick a decent place," Lovino commented in a snort.

"Really?" Antonio slowed to a stop before they reached their destination, carefully kneeling down to let Lovino crawl off his back.

"Surprisingly, with your brain capacity."

"Aww, but that's mean!" the Spaniard complained, only to earn a 'heh' in response. As soon as the weight had vanished, Antonio straightened again, stretching out his back to help realign his spine. Now, Lovino wasn't heavy, but he sure as hell wasn't light, either. If anything, Antonio deemed him as just about average weight, possibly even slightly heavier. He tossed a grin toward the Italian, but of course, was only met with a snort and a glare, those arms crossed before his chest. "Need any help?"

"No, I'm fine on my own," Lovino answered. But, of course, the moment he stepped forward, he cringed and quickly switched back to his good foot.

Antonio let out a sigh, his shoulders sagging. "So you say..." Lips pulling into a smile, he grabbed the other's wrist and slung it across his shoulders, his free arm snaking around the other's torso. Of course, he was careful not to dip down toward the waist, knowing very well he just might be shouted at for that. "just let go of your pride and let me help you. You can't walk on your own." Reluctantly, the Italian agreed and they pressed on, having to go at a slower pace due to the limp. At least it seemed to be getting better, the more he kept off it and used it sparingly... That observation sent relief washing over Antonio. He wouldn't be completely and utterly helpless, after all, and it most definitely was healing. Good... Then he wouldn't feel too guilty if he suddenly got a call from Francis and needed to vanish.

The Spaniard helped his new-found friend (or so he deemed) to the entrance of the Italian restaurant, though it was quite the interesting ordeal to get them both through the door - even if it was propped open to allow the nice, summer breeze into the open restaurant. He grinned to the man waiting inside, but it quickly flashed to a nervous smile as he heard the Italian pour from his lips. "You don't happ-"

And there was suddenly Italian coming from beside him. Lovino slipped away from his grasp and quickly began to talk to the man, his hands moving animately. A carefree smile alighted his features as he spoke, something of which surprised Antonio. The whole day, he had only seen scowls and glares. And now, all of a sudden, Lovino was _smiling_ at this man? Vaguely, he wondered if the two knew each other, but judging by the way they spoke, he assumed not. He could hear the formal terms from what Italian he did understand. No names were spoken, and it didn't seem to be a friendly, familiar kind of speech. He hummed and merely watched, arms hanging at his sides.

... Lovino looked rather... beautiful with a smile...

He blinked at the sudden thought that invaded his mind. Wait, what? His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the corners of his lips pulling down into a gentle frown. That was strange... Calling a man beautiful... But with the way Lovino's eyes seemed to sparkle as he spoke in such fluent, flowing sentences, he could see how he could believe such a thing. If Antonio could reflect it back to himself, he could easily assume that he looked the same when it came to anything concerning his heritage or homeland. He was quite prideful of his country, and as he watched Lovino's actions and manner of speech, he could tell that he, too, was quite the proud man. Perhaps he should not have made that mafia comment earlier, he mused.

With a smile, the man gestured for the two to exit the building. Lovino, seeming to be proud of himself, held himself a little taller and flashed a - what Antonio believed to be - rather charming smile in the man's direction. "Grazie mile." Oh! He understood that! He nearly bounced in excitement at knowing what such a simple phrase meant, but seeing as how both were waiting for him to move, he decided to keep it in his mind. He quickly stepped out of the way and watched as Lovino - with a very obvious limp - strode past him. After a grumbled demand for him to follow, Antonio obeyed and exited through the door once more. The man quickly picked up his pace to slide in front of the two, leading them to one of the empty tables and gesturing for them to sit.

More Italian poured from his lips, and Antonio found himself sighing. Perhaps he should have at least learned a basic understanding of Italian before visiting... It was rather stupid of him to never even try, aside from a few phrases here and there from Gilbert's brother. At least he now had someone who was fluent in the language... So it wasn't a complete loss. He, as well as Lovino, took his respectful seat at the table, leaning forward and resting his elbows atop the surface. He smiled as a menu was set before him. "Grazie," he told the man, who answered with an Italian phrase of his own and spoke again, this time directed to his fellow Italian.

Lovino's eyes flicked to the Spaniard for a moment, pausing in his speech. The smile fading completely, he directed his complete attention to him, seeming to ignore the man looking so expectantly at him. "What do you want?"

"¿Qué?"

A sigh of irritation. "Drink. What do you want?"

"Oh, uhm... Lemonade would be good?"

After a few spoken words, the man left, leaving them to be alone at their table. But, as fate would have it, it seemed that Lovino wasn't so keen on staying for very much longer after the exchange. As soon as their server was gone, all traces of the previous cheery disposition had vanished, leaving that irritated scowl to be displayed. Pity. Antonio quite liked seeing that smile on the other... Well, no matter. He'd just have to make it his goal to make it appear again - the right way this time. And, possibly, directed to him, rather than some random stranger they bumped into at a restaurant.

Lovino pushed himself up from his chair, balancing carefully on his good foot. He gave no explanation as he shoved his hands into his pockets. He limped forward, and only when he passed Antonio did he think to stop and speak to him. WIthout even looking at him, he let the words slip from his lips, "By the way... When you're here... You get better service if you actually speak the fuckin' language, dipshit." And with that, he was off again, limping away into the building.

Antonio blinked, looking blankly to the door. Was that... advice? Huh. Not like he could take it. He sighed, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly. It was too late for him to try to learn the language. He was already in Italy, and, well, he couldn't possibly learn the language within a few hours - or even a few days. Shrugging it off, he focused his attention on the menu before him - only to find that every single item and its respectful descriptions were, of course, in Italian. Antonio hung his head. He just _had_ to choose this place... Oh, if only he could tell his waiter "whatever it is that smelled so good yesterday'... There was no way he could convey that. But, if he asked Lovino about it, would he even answer? No, he would probably laugh. Okay, so maybe laughing was a bit over the top. But there was still no way he could go to Lovino about this.

He groaned, hiding his face in his hands as his weight was supported by the table. Oh, the mess he got himself into... There was no backing out of this, either. He was already seated, and he already had a drink ordered. No doubt it would come soon. And no doubt, it had to be paid for. A sigh escaped his lips as he mentally scolded himself for leaping before he looked. He lifted his head and pulled himself back together, fingers lacing before his lips. All he could do now was make the best of it, he supposed, and try his hardest not to ruin it. He was trying to make it up to Lovino for last night's mishap, after all.

Sitting alone with silence as his only companion, Antonio let his thoughts wander to the events of last night. The memory was still hazy, and some portions had even been forgotten, but he knew that he was most definitely not intoxicated enough to forget about the trip to the beach. His eyebrows furrowed as he recalled tears shimmering in the moonlight. There had to be a solid reason behind them. As far as he knew, no one cried with such a distressed look in their eye if there wasn't a reason behind it. He hummed at the thought, eyebrows furrowing. But what could such a man even be so troubled about...? Clearly it was _something_. He wanted to ask, and yet, at the same time, he knew it was pointless to. Lovino was a stranger, and likewise, Antonio was a stranger to Lovino. There was no way he'd get that kind of answer out of him, no matter how much he wanted it. Maybe one day, if they even met after this, but somehow, Antonio doubted it.

This was only a one time kind of thing, Antonio told himself. He was only eating lunch with Lovino because he was making it up to him. It was by absolute pure chance that the two even ran into each other today. And damnit, it was because he was drunk that he had even met Lovino the night before. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly at the strands. He was getting ahead of himself again... He didn't expect anything from this, but at the same time, he almost found himself hoping. He frowned at his own thoughts. Just what was with him...? This wasn't right. Not because Lovino was another guy - he couldn't care less about that - but because of this whole scene. How quickly he found himself growing curious of the other... How quickly he wanted to see the other laugh and smile like that toward him...

He shook his head to clear his mind. He couldn't allow himself to overthink it. Not again... He had gone through that once, he couldn't bear it to go through it again. Instantly, he shoved the memories aside, feeling the all-too-familiar pang in his chest from just the brief glimpse. Funny how memories could do that... He smiled wistfully, almost caring enough to chuckle.

Thankfully, it seemed that he wouldn't be left alone for much longer. Much to his relief, the hotheaded Italian returned, taking his place once again. Just as he suspected, the other didn't look him in the eye. In fact, he didn't look at him at all, instead focusing a rather unreadable gaze on the menu before him. For a moment, there was silence, until Antonio finally spoke up to break it, "So... Where'd you go?"

Lovino's eyes flicked up. A light frown pulled at the corners of his lips. "The bathroom. Where else," he answered flatly, "I had to clean my knees off since you've so conveniently forgotten you shoved me to the ground."

Once again, with the accusations... He sighed, shoulders sagging and lips tugging into a lopsided smile. "I didn't shove you to the ground. You ran into me and we both fell," he reminded, only to earn a snort and roll of the eyes in response. No matter. His head tilted in genuine curiosity and concern. "How are they?"

"They're fine." The answer came out a little too quick as his eyes flicked back to the menu. "I've had worse."

That caught his attention. Worse? He wanted to question further. He wanted to know more about what Lovino had been through, and how he had hurt himself. Was it from someone else? Was it due to clumsiness? Or was it...? He let the thought trail off there, nupping it in the bud before he could think out the whole thought. He couldn't peg something like that on someone, not ever... He hummed, interested, but decided to let it go. It seemed that their waiter had returned with their respective drinks, the two speaking in fluent Italian once more. Once again, that smile was back. Antonio watched with heightened interest, taking in the details of Lovino's face. And now that he actually looked to him, he could spot light freckles dusting the other's nose and cheekbones, so subtly yet evident when he smiled - if one looked closed enough - due to the way they clustered together. Well. That was an interesting detail. Antonio found himself smiling proudly at his little discovery, sitting up just a bit taller.

The waiter's gaze was directed to him and he grinned in return, but alas, he couldn't even get a word in, for Lovino interjected and answered in his place. The man grinned and collected their menus, gliding away to place their orders. Or so Antonio assumed. He looked to the Italian in curiosity. "Did you just order for me?"

"Well, you can't read Italian, can you?"

He laughed. "I suppose not, no."

Lovino snorted, holding his chin a bit higher. "You're welcome."

Antonio reached for his drink, carefully picking it up and swirling the liquid inside before taking a sip. "So, Lovino..." A grunt of acknowledgement. "... D'you have any siblings?"

The question seemed to catch Lovino off guard, for he tore his gaze away from where it had wandered, snapping to Antonio. He scrutinized him for a moment. "The hell d'you want to know?"

A loose shrug. "Just curious. I have an older brother. Miguel."

A pause. The gaze flicked away, focusing instead on the drink - was that wine? - before him. That frown still remained. "I have two," he finally spoke. "I'm the oldest. Romeo's the youngest."

"Really? How young? Miguel's... twenty-nine this year, I think."

"What, are you some kind of creep?"

"No, just trying to make conversation is all."

"... To be honest, I can't really remember. Don't see him too much. I believe... he's seventeen?"

"And how old's the middle one?"

"Tch, you're really fuckin' nosy, y'know that?"

Antonio laughed lightly, resting his head in his hand. A light smile played along his lips. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."

The Italian stared warily toward his companion for a moment before letting out a short hum. "Twenty; a year younger than me."

Antonio blinked. Wait, was he just given Lovino's age in the same breath as the intended answer? ... He did. "Well, that's cool."

"Tch." Irritation flashed across the younger's features. He quickly glanced away, shooting a glare toward the glass his finger idly traced the rim of. "Try fuckin' annoying. Our birthdays are so close, we're both lumped into the same damn day - _his_ birthday, of course."

Something about the other's expression gave Antonio the indication that he had hit a nerve. But, in a way, he was almost glad that he did. Slowly but surely, he was beginning to learn about this man. He hummed lightly and his lips parted to answer, but Lovino beat him to it.

A piercing gaze was sent the Spaniard's way. "Now c'mon. Out with it. Just how old are you, tomato bastard?"

Antonio blinked, head lifting from his hand. "Tomato bastard?" he echoed.

"Sì. That's your name."

"But my name is-"

Lovino snorted and rolled his eyes, lips twisting into a sneer. "I don't care what your fuckin' name is," he interrupted, "If I wanna call you tomato bastard, then you're a damn tomato bastard."

Antonio furrowed his eyebrows. The nickname didn't irritate him, no. More than anything, it was just cause for great confusion in him. "But..."

Lovino shot a warning glare. "Don't make me change it to 'tomato asshole', because I will."

At that, he had to laugh. Ah, he finally understood! The stains on the other's shirt - which he just now realized were wet with water. "No, tomato bastard is fine."

"Thought so." Was that pride in his eyes? Cute. "Now answer the damn question."

Antonio let his cheek rest in his palm once again, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "Twenty-five."

The wine was to Lovino's lips as he glanced away. Amusement danced within his eyes. "Grandpa."

"¿Q-qué?" Antonio sputtered.

And there was suddenly food. The Spaniard jumped at the impromptu appearance, sitting up straight and staring down in confusion at the plate. Well, it certainly looked delicious. He flashed the waiter a grin and thanked him, only to receive a flash of a smile before he took off once more. Sighing in defeat, Antonio felt his lips curve upward as he once again looked to the one across from him. At least there was one thing he couldn't - and frankly wouldn't - deny. He was quite enjoying his time with Lovino. And the more he learned about him, the more he found himself growing all the more comfortable with being around the Italian. ... Perhaps a little _too_ comfortable.


	3. Day Three: Love is Fleeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for the wait on this-! Life suddenly got busy-!! But here. Have an update at long last. You guys deserve it, for being so awesome. ♥

Calloused fingers danced upon the strings as the gentle music filled the air. He could feel it warming his heart, stilling the air around him. The sound was carried upon the gentle breeze, the warmth caressing his skin and tousling his hair and clothes. His head bobbed slightly with the quiet, gentle melody as a thin, tranquil smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He could feel the moon's light upon his skin, as gentle as ever. It was the kind of tenderness one would see in a mother, tenderly wrapping her child in a loving embrace. Yes, that was the moon on this night, Antonio had decided, as it shone down upon him in all its splendor. With the moon nearly full, it lit the night with a silvery glow, its rays reflecting off the waves as they crashed against the shore. The white sea foam rushed up the sands, only to retreat and repeat the process over. It was such a soothing background for his musical piece, and he tried to accompany it as best as he could.

He could hear the sea singing with his music with each wave, and he would slow his rhythm ever so slightly, where need be, to incorporate it. It only added to the tranquil atmosphere where nothing existed. Here, in this place, there was only him. Him, the sea, and the guitar in his lap. He breathed deeply the scent of the sea, letting the sweet aroma fill his nostrils. He could lose himself here. He had long since forgotten his troubles and worries, letting the warm summer wind carry them away upon her back. His heart had never felt as light as it had this evening, and he was sure that in such a perfect place, there would be no interruptions. There would be only him, and his guitar, and the sea singing its gentle lullaby.

Such a perfect night for him to be sitting upon the sand, the guitar in his lap, his fingers dancing across the strings... He had missed times like these... The sea had always been such a calming thing for him. She always called to him, beckoned him to sit by her and listen to her sweet voice. She would rock him to sleep on nights where his eyelids were mortal enemies of one another. She would listen to the troubles of his heart and mind and give no judgement, only the kind serenity that she had to offer. She, like the moon, had always been the one to dry his tears and quell his anger. Sitting by the shore in the moonlight... It was heaven. He was sure that here was heaven.

And yet, he was not alone. Even as he sat here, with no other body to be found near him, he was not alone. Eyes of green haunted him. Even when he slept, he was not free of them. Their encounter yesterday had not been entirely by chance, he had concluded, for after that day he had spent with him, he could not get those eyes out of his mind. He had dismissed it as nothing. After all, the first he saw of those eyes, they were filled with tears and held a pained longing for something he felt he would never discover. He could still remember them clearly. Through the darkness of the night, through the haziness of intoxication, he could remember them. And they were... beautiful...

Perhaps, he mused, they were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. His song took a gentler approach as he allowed his thoughts to reign his mind, eyelids peeling back ever so slightly. His smile didn't falter. Yes... Eyes of green that hid a variety of emotions... Emotions that he was sure the owner of those eyes was no doubt unsure of how to even portray... In just the short time that he had known him, Antonio could conclude three things about the fiery Italian. One, he never meant what he said. Two, he was not one for showing his emotions, whether it be man or woman. Three, his eyes were the mirrors to his soul, the windows to the emotions that lie within.

It was quite a curious thing, in all honesty... Though their time had been cut short due to a phone call on Antonio's behalf, he had discovered such a wide range of emotions within those pools of green. Anger, fear, regret, doubt, sorrow, loneliness, jealousy... Those were all there. Especially when they spoke of the Italian's younger brother. Yet, there were others... Love. Love had been one that Antonio could see... Even when the Italian would speak ill of his brother, he could see the love that he held for him. The pride of what his younger brother had become. The joy in seeing that he had turned out to be a fine young man. By how Lovino spoke of him, Antonio felt as though he had known the unnamed sibling for an eternity.

But... What was most interesting for Antonio... was not the confusion and bewilderment that would flare up in Lovino's eyes whenever the Spaniard did something the Italian didn't understand. No, it was the passion that burned in his eyes. That man had a fire in his heart - and a strong one. If Antonio had a say in it, it was a fire that he had never seen before in any human being. His song picked up pace as he recalled that flame within those eyes of green. The love for his country, the commitment to his family, the determination in being who he was without giving a care to what anyone thought of him... It all fueled the flame all the more, and Antonio found that it was the most interesting thing about the Italian man.

Lovino had a way of carrying himself, a way of speaking, a way of studying others and their intentions that Antonio had never seen before. It was quite curious. A man with such a sharp tongue usually didn't have the fire to back it up... Usually it was a self-defense for the lack of a fire within his soul, within his heart. But Lovino... No, it was different. His snarky attitude, his verbal lashings, his sharp glare... They were all fueled by that fire. They did not cover up the lack of one. It burned so brightly, Antonio feared that it may consume its owner in due time. And yet, as he had listened to only a few of the tales Lovino had to offer (most consisting of the kinds of trouble he and his brother would get into when they were younger, and thus not worth repeating), he could tell that this fire was not what Lovino had to control; it was what drove him on.

That fire was the reason Lovino lived.

Without that fire, Lovino would cease to exist. And oh, did it make Antonio want to learn even more about him... He was caught by those eyes of green. Entrapped, and could never escape. Every waking moment, they burned into the back of his mind. And when he had laid down to sleep the night before, they were all he could dream of.

Though, he was beginning to realize, it wasn't just those eyes that formed within his mind. No, they were indeed the main focus, but as he continued his song, his eyes closing once more, the features around the eyes began to form. The eyelashes that seemed to be a tad too long for a man's... The eyebrows of which always furrowed in either confusion or annoyance... The defined nose where nostrils would flare in an exasperated sigh... The gentle curve of plush lips, turned down into a gentle frown that never seemed to fade... The strong, sharp jawline of a well-developed man... The dark auburn hair that would sometimes fall into one eye, only to be blown away in annoyance...

He swallowed the lump in his throat as the memory of the man's features came to his mind. He breathed out a sigh through his nose. Here he had known this man for simply a day, and his image was already burned into his mind... They had not even spoken of much that day. They had ran into each other, and Antonio had treated the Italian to lunch as an apology. Then they had wandered the streets of Naples, Lovino protesting any kind of help with his ankle. (Thus, one can only imagine the amount of breaks the two took to simply sit and rest the overused joint.) They spoke of his brother. They spoke of Italy and the various places of beauty - many of which Lovino had apparently already seen in his lifetime. They spoke of music and dance, and food and cultural differences, of stories of the past. They spoke until the sun began to set into the horizon, Lovino kicking at the ground every so often and Antonio stealing glances to the Italian only to realize that they were not too much different in height. (In fact, if anything, Lovino was taller than he.) Then he had received a call, walked Lovino home - who grumbled complaints about his swollen ankle the entire time - and returned to the hotel where his friends awaited him.

Yet with their short time, those eyes stared at him... That face haunted him... That voice gently spoke to him... Even now, he could hear it, calling out to him. Asking him what he was even doing here, on that same beach where he had seen an angel crying in the moonlight.

No. That wasn't his imagination. The music faltered and halted abruptly. His eyes snapped open and he looked up to find that same face looking down at him, annoyance clear on his features.

There, beside him, stood Antonio's angel.

The moon's light shone upon his skin and hair, the water droplets indicating that he had no doubt just recently stepped out of the shower. His shirt wasn't even buttoned up properly, the top two buttons undone. The bottom had been left untucked and the cuffs had been folded up to his elbows. He wore a simple pair of slacks, a pair of shoes dangling from his hand. And as always, those green eyes bore straight into Antonio's soul. He almost feared they could see right through him.

"Lo-"

Lovino snorted, cutting up the name entirely. He rolled his eyes, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Wow. Stupid and deaf. Should've known."

Antonio couldn't help but to chuckle at the insult. He had learned to simply shrug them off, even in his short time of knowing the other. He leaned over his guitar, folding his hands before him and allowing for his elbows to rest on the wood. "So you've caught me. I, ah," he paused to give a nervous laugh and a sheepish smile, "I get caught up in my playing when there's a guitar in my hands. Lo siento."

The Italian placed himself next to Antonio, tossing his shoes to the sand. He let out a sigh of exasperation. He cast his gaze to the sea. Anything to avoid looking at Antonio. "Not what I was askin' about, but okay." A beat. His gaze flicked to Antonio, but only momentarily. "So are you goin' to stay mute, or are you goin' to answer me?"

Antonio rolled his shoulders, an amused smile on his face. "Depends on what the question is."

"Why the hell are you here again?"

"Am I not allowed to go to the ocean? I heard it's beautiful at night, after all, and the moon is full."

"First off, the moon isn't full. It was full two nights ago. Second, no, you aren't allowed to. If you want to go to the beach, go... somewhere else."

"And where would that be?"

Lovino scowled and rolled his eyes. "I don't know. Any beach but this one!"

"But this one's the best beach in Napoli, I heard." Antonio was careful of the pronunciation this time.

"Yeah, well, I don't care. Just choose a different one."

Antonio couldn't help but to laugh. He, too, looked to the ocean, but not before he caught the other give a quick glance in his direction. His lips took on a gentle smile. "I like this one. If I were to choose any beach, I'd choose this one."

"It's too close to my home, damnit. I hate seein' your ugly mug every damn day."

"Ah, but that's why I like going here in the first place!" Antonio turned his head ever so slightly and gave the other a wink.

Lovino visibly stiffened, his face flushing. Even in the moonlight, Antonio could see it. "The hell-?!" And there he went, acting as it leaning away from him would actually do any good.

Antonio laughed. "Relax. I'm joking." He flashed an apologetic smile before focusing his attention on the waves again. He breathed in deeply and sunk his toes in the sand. Why did he want to come to this specific one...? There were other beaches. Ones farther away from Lovino's home... His eyes watched the sea foam as it rushed in once more. "I like this one because it's the most beautiful. The ocean here... calls... to me. I know it doesn't make sense, and I probably seem mad to you, but the ocean has a certain sound here..." His voice softened as he continued. He motioned to the waves. "Look. See how the moonlight reflects off the water? I find that it's the most beautiful here. It dances in a way that it does not elsewhere.

"In other places, the sea is rough and angry. The waves are too loud and you have to shout to be heard by the person sitting right beside you. Then there are places where the sea is too quiet, barely a whisper. Where you can hear your own heart beating. I do not like that. I don't mind my heart beating. But I do not want to be self-aware of it.

"But here, the ocean sings. It's a soft melody, like a mother's lullaby. Don't you remember the days where your mother would sing to you, Lovino?" He glanced to Lovino in time to see him look away. In the moon's light, he could see those eyebrows furrow, see a frown tug at the corner of his lips. Lovino's posture had changed, his legs drawn toward his chest and his arms crossed over his knees. And those eyes... They held a storm within them. Emotion swirled within those pools of green, and yet Antonio could not pick each one apart. He just knew that he did not like the troubled gaze in those eyes...

He chose to look away. "My mother was kind. She was as beautiful as a flower and as strong and relentless as the sea. She had the voice of an angel." He felt a slight twinge in his heart at the mention of his dear, beloved mother. Her warmth was something Antonio would never forget... "The ocean here is like a mother. It sings with the love a mother would if she were singing a lullaby to her child. That is why I like it here, Lovino. This specific beach reminds me of my mother. It sings beautifully."

Lovino was quiet for a time and Antonio, too, fell into that silence. He was unsure if it was a peaceful one, however, for he was unsure of the emotion in the other's eyes. He could not make it out in the low light, thus his glances only lead him to no answers. Yet with the tilt of the Italian's head, he could tell the other was contemplating his words. Seeing him in another light... Antonio picked at the strings, but did not play a melody. Instead, he listened to the waves, his gaze focused mainly on that - save for the glances every now and then, of course.

Finally, there was a snort from beside him. The Italian rolled his eyes and rested his head in his hand. "You speak in riddles, bastard," the man grumbled. Antonio laughed, Lovino responded with a weak glare. That fire had not died, yet it had certainly calmed, it seemed. It was akin to that of a fireplace used to keep its guests warm on a cold winter's nights, rather than a raging wildfire that would burn those who got in its path. Antonio could not help but wonder why the flame had died so...

Antonio decided to grin, sitting up straighter. "Well, I'm not a poet, but I certainly am a songwriter!"

Lovino nodded. "So I've heard. You were playin' earlier, weren't you?"

Antonio nodded, patting his beloved guitar. He smiled fondly to the instrument. Never before had his most precious belonging failed him. On nights where he was alone, it was always there to comfort him. "Why yes, of course! I've been playing for... Dios mío, I can't remember how long it's been!" He let out a light-hearted laugh and flashed a bright grin. He played a few of the notes in quick succession, then strummed all the strings. "I have to say, it's my passion. It's the thing I pride myself the most on. If I couldn't play... Well, I wouldn't know what I would do with myself! My guitar has always been my life."

Lovino looked to him with curiosity flickering in his eyes. "And you've never once thought about goin' into the music industry?"

Antonio found himself pausing for a moment. He considered the other's words before he laughed and gave a sheepish smile. "No. No, I haven't. I mean. A long time ago, I did! But," he paused, looking down at his guitar as he ran his hand over a small portion of the instrument's neck, "I've never been good enough to even think about something like that. Playing guitar is one of my hobbies. It's a passion, just like growing tomatoes is, but it's not... No, I could never..." Ah, but there was so much more to it than just that... He breathed out a sigh, his eyes clouding momentarily as the memories flooded in. No... There was no way he could change his passion into a career... It was too late now.

"Play a song."

This startled Antonio out of his thoughts. Surprise took hold and he looked to the other. "¿Perdón?"

Lovino sighed through his nose. He had unfolded his arms and was now resting his elbow on one, propping his head up with the palm of his hand. "I said," he spoke, eyes flickering with false disinterest, "play a song."

The Spaniard hesitated. His eyes flicked between Lovino and the guitar, suddenly uncertain. Sure, he had played for people before, but it had always been on a whim. He would always say 'no' to those who asked, for it was always so much more difficult to come up with a song on the spot. Playing it randomly, when he had the urge, he could do. But when someone asked for it... He breathed in, eyes nervously looking to the guitar. Could he do it...?

"C'mon, what're you waitin' for? We don't have all night."

Antonio breathed out slowly, eyes hesitantly flickering to Lovino. He could feel his stomach twisting into knots, feel the lump forming in his throat. And oh God, was his heart now beating faster-? Oh yes it was... His fingers trembled, too. And simply at the sheer _thought_ of playing in front of someone-! ... No... Of playing in front of Lovino. But... why would Lovino be so special? He was just a random stranger! ... Right...?

Somehow, he didn't believe that.

He pushed the thoughts away, meeting Lovino's expectant gaze for the last time. "Well, alright..." he breathed out. And he decided to ignore the Italian's presence entirely. It was a tough thing to do, in all honesty. When he began, his fingers trembled and the notes were choppy. It made him cringe. It almost seemed as though it was an amateur playing, rather than someone who had been playing ever since he could remember. But he forced his emotions to calm, for his heart to steady. And he played.

His fingers gradually began to dance over the strings, plucking away and strumming to a beat he set for himself. The music that came from the guitar enveloped him and the sea sung with the chords. He found himself gently bobbing his head along with the music. His breathing calmed and his mind eased. Everything around him disappeared. And yet, he felt painfully aware of the Italian sitting beside him. Somehow... that did not affect him in the way he thought it would... He thought it would only fuel his nervousness. Instead, he used it as his source of inspiration. He drew from the presence coming from beside him, let his music reflect it.

The music coming from his fingertips was gentle and soft at first, but soon grew strong and passionate. It was not a song that would invoke anger or fear. It was not one that would get the adrenaline pumping. No, it was one that told of a fiery passion, of a strong will to live. The chords reflected, he realized, that fire that he saw burning within Lovino's eyes. He focused entirely on that, drawing the emotions from that fire. He could feel the smile twitch upon his lips as eyes of green once again filled his mind. His fingers danced faster than they had before, so much smoother and carefree. He could still hear mistakes, hear twinges in the guitar that just did not sound like they were supposed to be there, but they were so much easier for him to brush off and ignore.

He continued to play, until the song finally came to an end, when his mind portrayed the same troubled gaze he had seen earlier, when talking of the waves. He let the melody end on a calming note, letting the stillness of the air around them end the song, as though it was supposed to be there in the first place. He rested his hands on the guitar, breathing out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Antonio could not even bear to glance to the one next to him. His eyes stared to the sand, but they did not see, too clouded with the thoughts that reigned free in his mind. The thoughts he wished would just shut up already...

Why were those eyes so beautiful? Why did they entrance him so? Why had they been filled with tears when he first caught sight of them? What was the cause for that storm that lie within them? And why, oh why, could he not get them out of his head? Even when not gazing to their owner, they still haunted his sight. Oh, how he wished they wouldn't... And yet, at the same time, he wished they would do so more often. He found that he wanted to gaze into those eyes and study their depths. Yet he knew he couldn't. No, that would be too strange, wouldn't it? For him to gaze into Lovino's eyes... He hardly knew the guy-! Yet, he wanted to learn more... So much more...

"That was..."

Lovino's voice broke the silence. Antonio's gaze flicked to the Italian in uncertainty. He was going to judge him now...? He was surprised with what he saw. He did not see an angered expression. He did not see a scowl, he did not see the roll of eyes. He did not see a trace of annoyance or irritation - false or not. He saw a sort of peace in the Italian. His eyes were gentle, his lips relaxed. His eyebrows were not furrowed as they usually were. The warm summer wind pushed back the wet locks, ever so slightly, to further reveal eyes that stared far off across the sea.

Antonio watched as Lovino's Adam's apple bobbed when the other swallowed. No, stop that. Stop noticing every single little damn detail, stupid Spaniard. Don't start being infatuated with this guy. You don't want to get hurt again. He mentally slapped himself for even thinking such things, his gaze glancing away once more. He breathed out a silent sigh, running a shaking hand through his hair.

Then he heard something he didn't expect. A chuckle. Once again, he found himself glancing to Lovino, bewilderment in his eyes. What? He actually earned a chuckle. And a smirk thrown his way. Wow.

"I'm surprised you're not goin' for it. Or at least give yourself more credit," the Italian spoke. His tone told Antonio that he was being entirely truthful. There were no traces of a teasing tone. He could feel his heart flutter at that fact alone. "You're actually... pretty good. Surprisingly."

Antonio could not contain the smile that crept onto his lips. He could not contain the way it tugged at the corners and the way his teeth peeked out from behind. He sat up straighter, and he could feel all his worries melt away. Being complemented by someone like Lovino... That brightened his day all the more! Sure, he had been told that by people before - namely Francis and Gilbert - but to hear it from a man who only spouted insults the entire time he had known him? ... Okay. Maybe he was happy for the sheer fact that he got something out of the other that _wasn't_ an insult or ridicule.

He could see the other's cheeks flush and see the way that his shoulders tensed. That expression soon twisted to a sort of grimace, but it seemed almost forced. "H-hey! Don't get so happy over that all of a sudden, bastard! I like the damn guitar, okay?" he defended. Antonio could only laugh. Lovino snorted and quickly glanced away, his toes curling and digging into the sand. His arms wrapped loosely around his knees. "My brother can play the piano and sing. He knows how to play guitar and violin. So I at least have an appreciation for music." His voice had lowered to a murmur, his eyebrows once again furrowed.

"And what about you? Do you play any instruments?"

Lovino was silent for a moment. He breathed out a sigh through his nose. "The cello," he answered at last. A beat. His eyes flicked to Antonio briefly. "Used to," he corrected himself. "I used to play the cello. A long time ago." He corrected his gaze to the ocean, and Antonio listened to what he had to say. "Fratellino and I always played instruments together when we were children. He would play the violin, and I would play the cello. He would play the piano, and I would sing along."

Antonio couldn't help but to smile, ever so faintly. He crossed his arms over his guitar, lightly leaning over it. He was careful, of course, not to put too much weight on it. "You really love your brother, huh?" he spoke without thinking.

This seemed to catch Lovino by surprise, and he glanced over to the Spaniard with a shocked expression at first. He then looked away again, silent at first. The wind picked up once more, and when it brushed back his fringe, Antonio could see pain flickering through his eyes. "... yeah..." he spoke carefully. "We don't always see eye to eye. But, I've always been there for him, and he's always been there for me. He's all I have now."

That last sentence rang in Antonio's ears. He was stunned into a momentary silence. _He's all I have now_. He couldn't bear to look at the other. Not when the pained expression continued to develop... He wanted to wrap the other up in his arms and rock him back and forth as he whispered promises of 'it's okay' and 'everything will be fine'. He swallowed, his lips forming a thin line. Funny how music could actually get someone to open up...

An unamused chuckle came from the one beside him. Lovino reached up to run a hand through his hair before leaning against it. His free hand tightened into a fist. "Hell, if I even have _that_ now..." The phrase was muttered bitterly, his smile untrue. He muttered something else in Italian, then shook his head. "Forget it. It's not important."

Antonio jumped to action. His eyes snapped away from the sand and focused solely on Lovino. "No, no!" He reached out, laying a hand on Lovino's shoulder. He hadn't even thought of it; it just sort of... happened without his realizing. But as soon as the Italian took notice by glancing down, he murmured an apology and removed the offending hand. "I mean..." He chose his words carefully. He flashed a smile. "I understand. I..." He forced a laugh, hunching over his guitar in an effort to seem smaller than he was. "Believe it or not, but I have some... family issues as well. If I may call it that."

Lovino snorted. "They're not 'family issues'. He'll get over it. He always does. Damn guy's too sensitive for his own good. Cries when his damn pasta spills to the floor."

"Hey, I'd cry, too!" Antonio defended, earning a raised eyebrow. Shit. He stiffened, then sighed. "Nevermind... Just... Family is family, sí? They'll always be there for you, at the end of the day. Yeah, there are some really shitty families out there. I know that. But I can tell you really love your brother. If he feels even the slightest of love for you... then he'll understand! Things will be alright."

Lovino narrowed his eyes, his lips forming a frown. His arm fell to his knee once more. "You don't even know what the hell you're talkin' about. You don't know shit about my family."

"True," Antonio pointed out, "I never said I did." He paused. "But I do know that you love your brother. Each time you've talked about him, it's only been fondly. Even if you call him a brat, or your grandpa's favourite, or an idiot, or say he's too emotional... I can tell you love him and worry over him. Am I wrong?"

The Italian opened his mouth to object, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. A small glare and slowly his mouth closed again. He retreated back into himself, and spoke cautiously, "... No... You aren't wrong..."

Antonio's smile grew. "See? I know I don't have any say in your family issues, Lovino, but I do know that you love your brother. And judging by what you've told me, he loves you, too. Everything will be okay. I'm sure you still have him! One petty disagreement won't stop you from being brothers."

Lovino looked perplexed. "How-"

Antonio winked. "I know feuding brothers when I see them, Lovi. I've had my fair share of fights with my own to know the signs."

Lovino deflated, lowering his head toward his arms but not yet reaching them. He eyed the Spaniard warily, and in the moonlight, Antonio could see a tinge of pink dusting across his cheeks. "... It's Lovino, tomato bastard..." he muttered.

Antonio stuck out his bottom lip. "Aww, still with the nickname?"

Lovino seemed a bit more prideful, sitting up straighter. That smirk was back, that mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Now and forever."

"Oh, so you mean you want to know me forever?"

"I- What-?" Lovino sputtered. His cheeks seemed to darken, his eyes widening. "I never said that!"

"But you implied it!" Antonio found himself leaning toward the other, pressing a palm against the sand to support himself.

Lovino stiffened in response. "I did no such thing!"

Antonio could only laugh as he pressed farther, careful to not dip the guitar in the sand. "But you just said-"

Lovino groaned. "I know what I said, damnit! But that doesn't mean- GAH! Get away from me! Stop getting closer!"

Antonio only inched farther to the side, noting with amusement at the higher pitch in which the words left the other's lips. And not to mention the thicker accent. "I dunno, Lovi, I think that's a Freudian Slip~!"

"I- You- _What_?" He groaned and finally lifted his hand, pushing at Antonio's face. "I don't care what you think, bastard! Now stop that, you're creepin' me the fuck out!"

Antonio could tell that this wasn't the truth. No, Lovino would be reacting in such a different matter if it was. He laughed at the words, letting the Italian push him away. Though admittedly, it sort of hurt his nose with the palm pressed against it. He swatted away the hand, giggles erupting from him. "Alright, alright, I'll stop." A brief pause. "Lovi."

Lovino threw his hands up in the air with a cry of aggravation. Then, seeming by impulse, he flicked sand in Antonio's direction.

Once again, the Spaniard laughed, shielding himself from the sand. "Hey, hey, watch the guitar!" he shouted in retaliation. Then an idea sprang to him. He smiled gently and picked the guitar off of his lap, unfolding his legs. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry, Lovino. I shouldn't have called you that." He lowered the guitar to the sand, carefully laying it on its back. He could feel Lovino's questioning gaze upon him, but he did not turn to look at him. No, he only glanced at him to assure that his guitar would be far enough away and would not be affected by the activity he had in mind. ... Good. It would be safe.

He breathed in and shoved his hands into his pockets, walking toward the water. He let a serene smile come to his lips, gazing out at the darkened horizon. "But in all seriousness... You should have seen the fights between Gilbert and his little brother! Those two would take swings at each other!" He walked closer to the edge of the water, anticipation flooding through his veins. but he kept himself calm, kept any hints out of his voice and demeanor. Oh, and how he was the master at this art...

He could hear Lovino unfolding his legs behind him, but he knew very well that they were not the sounds of him standing. He breathed in as the water rushed over his feet. "Especially when drunk! Dios mío, I feared for my life!" He kicked slightly at the water, testing the temperature. A bit cold, but... That was expected of the night. "They would swing this way, and swing that way!" As if to emphasize the words, he kicked the water one direction, and then another, but he was careful not to kick it anywhere near Lovino. No... Not yet...

"Then all of a sudden..." He paused, his eyes glancing back to Lovino. Mischief danced within them. He could see the Italian's face paling in recognition, lips parting in mild disbelief. As Antonio's body prepared itself and his lips parted, he could see Lovino slowly begin to shake his head. "You were pulled into it yourself!" As soon as he shouted those words, he dipped down and scooped handfuls of water to chuck at the Italian with a hearty laugh.

Lovino let out a shout of surprise - which turned out to be more of a squeal - as he fell back in a feeble attempt to escape the sudden water attack. As Antonio laughed, he shot up and to his feet, hands balling into fists. "The hell! What as that for, huh?!"

Antonio calmed his laughing and smirked, taking a few steps back into the waves. He could feel the water rushing around his ankles, rising up toward his mid calf now. "What's wrong, Lovi?" he almost taunted. "Can't stand a little water?"

Lovino growled, eyes glancing from the water to the Spaniard. "Lovino," he corrected. "It's fuckin' Lovino, damnit!"

Aha. There it was. Antonio put on a genuine smile, his chin tilting upward ever so slightly. He kicked more water at the Italian, who took a step back to avoid it. "Maybe if you actually manage to push me down... Or soak me to the bone... I'll stop calling you Lovi," he suggested. "If I manage to soak you first, then the nickname continues."

The Italian glanced to the water again. He lowered his hands to his sides, his face contorting into confusion. "Are you fuckin' kidding me." It was more of a statement than a question, really.

"Nope."

And the game began. With a growl, Lovino first tried a frontal assault, racing toward Antonio and trying to tackle him head-on.

But with practiced ease, the Spaniard danced out of the way, grabbing Lovino's wrist and twisting him around so that his back pressed against his chest. He smiled down to the Italian. "You'll have to try better than that, Lovi."

He swept his foot forward in an attempt to hook Lovino's ankles from behind, but was surprised to find that Lovino had jumped back into him, knocking his shoulders against the Spaniard's to knock him back. After losing his balance, Lovino took it as his opportunity to twist his wrist out of the grip, sweeping his arm back as he whirled around. He used his momentum to propel himself away from Antonio, dancing a few feet away before smirking at him, arms at his sides. "I could say the same for you, bastard."

Oooh this was so much better than he expected. Antonio grinned to the other and instead of going straight for him, he kicked water up to the other.

Lovino retaliated by dipping down and scooping water in both hands to throw at Antonio, who laughed and retreated farther into the water.

The waves rushed around his knees now as he danced away from the water coming from Lovino, sending a few splashes in return. The fight continued on as such, with neither of them actually trying to go for each other. A splash here, a splash there, a laugh from Antonio, a smirk or shouted insult from Lovino...

That is, until Lovino decided to rush Antonio again, just as a wave was going out. In a battle cry, the Italian rushed forward. And just when Antonio thought he was going to go for his middle, the Italian suddenly veered to the right and ducked under his arms, instead taking a swipe just behind the knees. Antonio let out a cry of surprise as he stumbled to one knee, the waves crashing in around him. He shivered as they rushed past, but yet, his shoulders, chest, and head remained water- free.

Antonio straightened himself again, casting a glance to Lovino, who smirked at him in pride. "What're you smirking about?" the Spaniard spoke calmly. "You haven't won."

That smirk was gone instantly and was replaced with a frown. "What? But I flattened your ass!"

Antonio shook his head. "No you didn't. You got me down to one knee. That's not pushing me down entirely. That's knocking me off balance. There's a difference."

Lovino scowled and shot an arc of water in Antonio's direction. "Fuckin' cheater!"

Antonio laughed, shielding himself and returning the attack. "No I'm not~!" he replied in an all-too cheerful tone. He sent a few more splashes Lovino's way. "You just didn't ask for the full rules! You have to knock me down completely, or soak me entirely first! And last I checked, I'm still standing and still dry!"

Lovino growled and shot more water Antonio's way. Then, after sending off the largest one he could muster, he shot forward and slammed into Antonio's chest.

But Antonio couldn't go down easily. You could call him rather used to this kind of thing. He did stumble, sure, and he was a bit winded, but he instead used the momentum to spin around and knock his foot into Lovino's calves. And down they went. He braced himself for the impact, cradling Lovino in the nook of his arm as they went down so he could take in most of the fall into his elbow.

Pain shot up his arm upon impact, but, as he was sure, they were both safe. He pushed himself up, smirking in triumph down at the one below him. Wide green eyes that he was sure would haunt him tonight, too, stared up at him in shock. He then turned his smirk into a smile and patted the other's cheek, thankful that he had managed to knock them down when the waves had pulled out. Or else Lovino would have been submerged. "I do believe that's a win for me. Better luck next time, Lovi."

He could see a tinge of pink rise up to colour Lovino's cheeks. Strange... He found himself trapped by those eyes, unable to look away. They seemed to fill his vision and pique his curiosity. He could see the storm of emotions coursing through them, but he could not even begin to name them all. Confusion, surprise... He could see those ones, clear as day. But there were others that he could not recognize, that fought against one another too much for him to pick up on. And damn. They were beautiful. He found his smile falling away, ever so slightly, as his eyes finally tore away. But they did not land to any safer territory. They wandered to nostrils flaring with quickened, uneven breaths, and then down to lips just barely parted and trembling. His hand had fallen from the other's flushed cheek to instead cup the side of his head, fingers idly playing with the strands without his knowledge.

But he wasn't noticing that. No, his eyes were locked on those trembling lips, and the tongue that darted out momentarily to wet them. ... As if in anticipation... He felt that he knew of what. His mind did not dare to come up with the words. He knew simply by instinct and, as he would deny, his own desires. After all, this man was certainly attractive - especially pinned underneath him like this, with only the moon serving as their light. Its silvery glow accented the other's skin, glistening with the ocean's water. He found himself leaning down. It was subtle, hardly even noticeable, but those lips seemed to be getting closer. And perhaps it was his imagination, but he could have sworn they were parting all the more, just as his were.

Then he heard the crashing of waves approaching them. He glanced to the side and upon seeing the waves pulling back in, he quickly stood up, grabbed Lovino's hand, and yanked him to his feet - a little too quickly, he supposed. The other stumbled into him, but he was quick to catch him and hold him steady as the waves rushed past. He let out a nervous laugh, giving a gentle squeeze and slowly releasing the other. The Italian did not move. He soon came to realize that Lovino did not dare to look at him. They were the same height, that much Antonio had discovered, but Lovino almost seemed to shrink where he stood, his head dipped down so Antonio could not see his eyes. His eyes quickly darted down to the lips he had been so fixated on just a moment before.

Instantly, the guilt washed over him. The guilt and fear and general shock of what had almost happened clutched at his heart. Those lips were not turned down into a frown. Instead, they formed a thin, unreadable line. He quickly let go and pulled away from the Italian, taking a step or two back to give the other the space he had come to find out the Italian so much desired. "Lo siento, Lovino! I..." He laughed nervously. He didn't even know what to say. He had completely misread the situation, and had almost gone and kissed the damn guy. ... Right...? Yeah, that was most definitely what he had intended to do. Perhaps... he didn't notice... He cast an apologetic smile. "I didn't mean to almost drown you, promise!" He threw his hands up in defense. "I was only trying to win the game, not drown you!"

"Yeah." The word seemed almost forced. Antonio's hands lowered, his smile faltering. Shit. He had certainly done something wrong. Finally, Lovino looked to him, but Antonio could not read his eyes. Emotion swirled within them, yet the other chose to play it off as nothing, giving a shrug and shoving his hands away in his pockets. Then, he scowled. "You certainly have a flashy way of showin' off, huh. Well, I guess you win. But I'm not callin' you by your damn name or anythin' like that. You're still tomato bastard."

So he hadn't noticed. And... was that a twinkle of amusement? Antonio laughed, forcing himself to relax. "Sure, sure, whatever you say! But I win, because I still get to call you Lovi," he pointed out.

Lovino snorted, rolling his eyes and taking a step back. "I'm still goin' to correct you on that one. My name's Lovino, damnit."

Antonio grinned. Things seemed to be back to normal... That was good. "Argue all you want. But Lovi is still Lovi."

Lovino shot a glare, but then sighed and shivered against the wind. "Yeah, whatever. C'mon, I'll get you a towel. Since you're a damn idiot who decided it's fun to play in the waves at two o'clock in the frickin' mornin'." He then turned and walked out of the waves, Antonio staring after him.

He blinked in surprise. "Wow, is it really that late?" Finally, he followed after, jogging to catch up. He almost reached for his guitar, but stopped. No... He couldn't carry that...

Lovino rolled his eyes and cast a glance to Antonio. "You didn't notice? The first thing I said you was, 'what the hell are you doin' here? It's past midnight'."

Antonio laughed sheepishly. "I told you. I get really caught up in my music."

"Speaking of that..." He glanced to the guitar. "Don't touch that. You'll ruin it. I'll get towels and we can wrap it up and take it to my house for the night."

"Really? You'd do that for me?" Antonio jogged around the instrument when Lovino motioned for him to follow, accompanying him up toward the housing not too far from the shore.

"I'm a big music nerd. It'd be devastating to see even a single guitar destroyed at the hands of a stupid Spaniard."

Antonio laughed and flashed a grin. "Aww, c'mon, I'm not that stupid."

Lovino looked at him with a doubtful expression. "Really. You. Not stupid? Guess again, moron."

"Hey," Antonio whined as he once again jogged to catch up. Man, the guy was really picking up the pace! "I'm not that moronic! I'll have you know I'm a uni student!"

"Yeah, and that really says so much in this day and age," Lovino retorted as he ascended the steps to his home. He paused at the door, casting a glance to Antonio. "Wait here."

Antonio obliged as the Italian disappeared within the home. It was curious, though, how no lights flickered on, and he could hear no bustling around inside. Huh... Could Lovino really work that well in the house? Did he really know it that well? Well, no matter. He did not have to wait long.

His thoughts were dispersed as soon as the Italian retreated from the home with three towels; one around his neck and currently drying his hair, and the other two in his arms. He dumped them both into Antonio's arms. "You're to return that towel as soon as we get back up here. And no, you can't come inside," he spoke firmly as he walked past the Spaniard.

As Antonio busied himself with drying off his clothes and arms - all while trying to hold the extra towel at the same time - he followed Lovino and the two made small talk on the way to the guitar. They spoke of the lateness of the evening and bickered of the usage of names, all the way until the guitar was safely wrapped up most of the way in the largest towel that Lovino could find.

Lovino was the one to carry it back to the house, where he set it down just inside the door and stood outside with Antonio, where he retrieved the towel from him. He grunted in response to the words of gratitude, his eyes not meeting the others. Then a silence befell them.

Antonio's breath caught in his throat as their eyes met. The way that the other's eyes held his... The mix of emotions in them... The silent plea within them... He knew not what the Italian was hoping for, or wanting to speak. No, he could only pick out that there was indeed something the other wanted to ask, something the other wanted from him. But there was no way he could figure out what it was. He was no mind reader...

After what seemed like an eternity, Lovino sighed and glanced away, his eyebrows furrowing in exasperation. "You better get goin'. You've got roommates waiting on you, right?"

Frankly, Antonio hadn't thought the other would remember such a detail; that he was visiting Italy with friends. He looked to him in mild surprise, but slowly nodded. "Uh, y-yeah. You're right. I do. I, uh... I suppose I should go then."

"Yeah... Yeah, you should go."

Neither of them moved. Despite their words, Antonio did not step back and Lovino did not retreat into his home. But Lovino did not meet the other's gaze, either. He held on tighter to the towel in his arms, his lips forming a thin line. Finally, he glanced to him, but only momentarily before they went back to the towel, where he began picking at the fibers with a fingernail. "That means turnin' around and walkin'."

Antonio felt his face flush. "Right. Right, of course. I mean... Yeah... Of course." He finally took a step back, yet he found that it was hesitant. He finally tore his eyes away, giving Lovino another glance as he stepped down. "So, uhm... Buenas noches. Then." There was only a nod of agreement. He breathed in, then finally turned away and began walking. But he could only get one step before he heard a voice from behind him.

"Hey, tomato bastard-"

His steps faltered instantly and he found himself looking over his shoulder, almost hopeful. What for, he wasn't sure himself. His eyes caught Lovino's. "Hm?"

Lovino's lips parted as if to say something, but then thought better of it and glanced away. His eyebrows furrowed, his shoulders stiffening. "Could you..." Antonio hung on his words, his breath caught in his throat. "Could you teach me?"

"Teach you?" Antonio echoed, bewildered.

The Italian bit his lip, and Antonio could see the traces of reddened cheeks. He breathed in, then breathed out in a slow, controlled sigh. "How... how to play... a guitar...?"

Well that surprised him. But it wasn't an unpleasant surprise, either. A smile wound up onto his lips. But unlike most of the others, it was so much more gentle, so much more genuine. "Of course, Lovino." The words came out steadier than he thought they would.

Lovino's cheeks burned all the more and he picked away at the towel. Hesitantly, his eyes flicked to Antonio, then back to the towel. He cleared his throat, shuffling on his feet. "Yeah... Good... Okay..."

Holy hell he was cute. Antonio wasn't sure if he could stand anymore of this. He chuckled, giving a wider smile. "Buenas noches, Lovino..." he spoke quietly.

Lovino nodded. Slowly, but surely, he nodded. "... Buona notte..." His voice was even more mumbled than before. He then cleared his throat once more and quickly disappeared inside the house, leaving Antonio to stand alone in the moonlight.

He found himself staring at the door longer than he should have. But he couldn't help it. He was almost wishing that the door would fling open again to reveal that stunning Italian. He wanted to hear his voice again. But, he knew that wasn't possible. It was late. He was tired. So very tired... And his heart... Aah, his heart would not last if he saw him again. No, it was already pounding away so quickly, he thought he would go into cardiac arrest.

He chuckled at the thought and ran a hand through his hair. "Dios mío, Antonio..." he murmured, casting a glance to the sky, before looking to the house again. He took a step, glanced away, and continued on his way. He only made a few steps before looking back toward the house, his steps faltering. He didn't know why, but he had the sudden urge to look back... Then he saw it. His eyes caught the movement of a shadow darting back behind the safety of a curtain. It took a moment for his brain to register what it was. And when it did, he felt his cheeks flush, ever so slightly.

Lovino was watching him, too.

He cracked a smile and shook his head, forcing himself to continue on. He forced himself not to look back, to just keep walking. After all, why would he? Why would he be so infatuated with this damn Italian? Sure, he was good-looking. Scratch that. He was beautiful and hot and just mighty damn sexy, okay? Tanned skin, dark hair, bright eyes... Yeah. Antonio could definitely go for that. He quickly shook the thoughts from his head, smacking his cheeks with both hands as though he would be able to dispel such thoughts in such a manner. What the hell was he thinking-? Thinking of Lovino that way-!

He must've been tired. Yes. Undeniably exhausted. Thus, he was not thinking straight. Yes. That was it. That was totally it... He swallowed thickly and continued on, his hands shoving away into his pockets. He had to get back. Gilbert and Francis were waiting for him. He hadn't even brought his phone; no doubt they were wondering where he had been.

The walk back, unfortunately for him, left enough time and silence for his thoughts to wander. And no matter how many times he tried, he could not erase those eyes from his mind's eye. The way they looked up at him... That fire that burned within them... Water beaded across his skin... Those lips, so inviting and- STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT!

He was all too glad when the hotel finally came into sight, his pace quickening. He pulled out his hotel key and busied himself on thoughts on how he would explain his absence and missing guitar to his friends. ... Well. He could tell them the truth. That was always an option. Oh, but Francis would blow it entirely out of proportion again, wouldn't he? Of course he would. He swallowed and unlocked the door, carefully sliding inside.

It seemed that he didn't have to worry about Gilbert; he was already fast asleep, snoring away in the bed he had claimed as his own. Francis, on the other hand... He grimaced at the sight. No, it wasn't that Francis had a book in his hands, or that the glasses were delicately resting on his nose... No, it was that questioning look he was giving the Spaniard. Antonio breathed in, offered a sheepish smile, and closed the door behind him. "Buenas tardes, Francis."

Francis raised an eyebrow, then glanced to the clock; 3:20, it read. "I don't think that phrase is appropriate. I think it's more morning than evening, Antonio," he pointed out. He sighed and closed his book, eyebrows furrowing in confusion and concern. "Where have you been all evening? Gilbert and I were worried sick!"

Antonio glanced to Gilbert, then back to Francis. He gestured to the sleeping German. Oh. I'm sorry. Prussian. "He looks fine to me."

"Okay, so perhaps he did not worry as much as me," Francis mused as he removed his glasses. He rubbed at his temples. "That still does not answer my question."

"I was, ah, playing my guitar. At the beach." Antonio went to busying himself with preparing for his shower, deciding it was best to at least rinse off the seawater before he slipped under the covers. Oh and the sand would best be gone, too, he supposed...

"Your guitar," Francis echoed from behind him, his voice deadpan. "I don't see your guitar. Mon dieu, were you mugged?"

Antonio looked at Francis, astonished and confusion. "Mugged? What? Oh, no, no, of course not! I wasn't mugged!" he spoke quickly. Him? Mugged? No way that could even happen! He turned away as Francis crossed the room, finally finding a pair of sweatpants and gathering them up.

"Then where is it? Did you leave it? Oh, I always knew you were airbrained, but this much?"

"Don't worry, it's somewhere safe. I left it with someone trustworthy."

"Someone... And who would that be, exactly?"

Antonio flashed a smile over his shoulder. "An angel is watching over it for me."

Francis seemed both confused and intrigued at the same time. He crossed the room to Antonio, his head tilted in curiosity. "An angel. Really? Is this the same angel you have spoken of before?" His eyes narrowed. "Is it that same one you met when you were drunk?"

A shrug. "Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Either way, it's in good hands now."

Francis let out a sigh of defeat, shaking his head. "I worry for your mental health sometimes, Antonio..."

"Hey, at least I know exactly where it is. I know the exact address and I'll be picking it up tomorrow." He gathered up a towel, adding it to his pile. "I couldn't very well carry it back when I'm soaking wet, now could I?"

"Which raises the question..." the Frenchman began as he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, "why are you soaking wet in the first place?"

Another smile as Antonio paused just before the bathroom door, swinging it open. "Oh, no big deal," he answered, "Just got pulled into the sea by a siren."

Francis was silent for a moment before shaking his head. "Aah, Antonio... I do not understand you... "

Antonio chuckled and stepped into the bathroom. He seemed to not truly look at the contents, instead he seemed to be lost in something that could not be seen. And just before he closed the door, he agreed, "Neither do I, my friend... Neither do I..."


	4. Day Four: She Broke My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being... So very long... I apologize greatly for that, everyone- I suppose I got a little carried away~! But yes! Here it is! Chapter four! Enjoy.

The steady, quiet tapping of droplets against the concrete... The way they rolled down the window's glass and dripped from leaves... The soaking of the earth... If he were home, he would have thrown open the window and sat upon the windowsill to listen all the better. He would breathe in deeply and let the sweet smell fill him. It has always calmed him, like the waves of the ocean. If he were too far from the shore, than the soothing sounds would remind him of the sea. The rain, too, was something he enjoyed. Something he cherished. His home, long ago, would often receive rainfall, as far back as he could remember. Especially in the summertime, the rain clouds would release what they held in a warm summer's rain. Just as it was now, here in Italy.

Behind him, he could hear the murmurs of his friends, chattering away about God-knows-what. He paid no attention to them, sitting in the chair he had brought close to the window. His elbow rested upon the windowsill, green eyes gazing out at the falling water droplets. He watched as they fell from the clouds above to join their brothers and sisters upon the paved road, watched as cars drove on past, their windshield wipers pushing away the droplets. But there were very few men and women who dared to venture out in the storm. With the distant rumbles of thunder, it seemed that the citizens of Naples had taken refuge in their homes or in the various buildings, not wanting to attract the coming lightning. Every now and then, he would see an unlucky soul running through the downpour, hair and clothes clinging to their skin.

Yet, as he gazed out, he did not entirely see. He watched the rain, but he truly did not take it in. Usually, he would enjoy the rain. He would sit with a mug of coffee in his hands and sip away. Or perhaps it would be hot chocolate, depending on his mood for that day. But instead, he sat there alone, with his friends speaking to one another, eyes looking out with dulled interest at the dreary world outside. Most days, rain was not a depressing thing for Antonio. But today, the rain was a hindrance, something entirely unwanted by the Spaniard. Why did it have to choose today, of all days? It could have waited until tomorrow, or perhaps the day he would be leaving. Maybe even the day _after_ he left! But no. Today was the day it decided to show, much to his dismay. And thus, the poor bastard was stuck inside the small hotel room, his friends droning on in the background.

He could hear their laughter, and hear the jokes cracked at one another. He could hear the tapping of feet and the shifting of fabric. But he could not focus on the words spoken in such enthusiastic tones. His mind was elsewhere. It was on the rain. No. Not even that. It was on the troubles the rain had caused for him this day. Because it had decided to visit, he was stuck here. He could not go where he wanted. His fist curled in his lap as his eyebrows furrowed, his lips turning down into a frown. It was not one of anger, but rather, of disappointment for what the day had brought him. He had made a promise. He was supposed to go to him. Supposed to pick up his guitar, and perhaps even help him strum a few notes. Aah, but mother nature was such a cruel mistress...

He wanted to see him. He realized that now, though he often found himself pushing the thought to the back of his mind. He had been able to sleep just fine this morning, when he had arrived back at the hotel, but as soon as he had awoken, he could not close his eyes for longer than a standard blink. He had risen with such cheerful giddiness this morning that even Gilbert hadn't the heart to curse him for waking him from his slumber. If anything, that cheerfulness had spread to his friends and they had started their day fairly early that morning. They had bustled around the hotel room, fought over the shower (which ended up with Francis going first thanks to Gilbert and Antonio locking their friend in the bathroom, all due to a rather perverse suggestion of all three of them showering together), and then ventured out to locate breakfast. They had joked and elbowed each other, and Gilbert and Antonio had even ended up bickering and trying to put each other into a headlock. Of course, it was Antonio who had lost the battle and as punishment, he was the one to pay for their meal.

Not that he particularly minded, of course. But ah, when they had returned to their hotel room sometime around noon, they were met with rather devastating news on Antonio's behalf. During their morning adventures, he had told GIlbert and Francis both of his plans to head off to retrieve his guitar. He had told them that he would need to get it back, and had reassured them that he would return soon after. Of course, that was also returned with doubt, but that was soon dismissed when he pointed out that they were indeed visiting Italy together, and as such, he had a duty to stay by their side as well. And thus, when they returned, Antonio had all intentions of leaving to retrieve his guitar from the feisty Italian's house. But of course, that was when the brewing clouds decided to unleash their wrath, drenching the streets. Since then, Antonio had found his place near the window, silently gazing out.

He was startled from his thoughts as a loud crack of thunder split through the air, his body jolting. The sounds crashed in around him. Gilbert's shouting at Francis - accompanied by high-pitched squealing - and Francis's calls for Antonio to 'help him'. Antonio could only fear what. Now, don't get me wrong. Francis is no pervert. He may make such remarks that make him seem as such at times, but he was most certainly a gentleman. Thus, Antonio did not worry for that. Instead, his mind was whirring with possibilities of what could possibly embarrass the Prussian-blooded man - not make him entirely uncomfortable.

When he turned his head, his answer had come clear.

Francis had Gilbert pinned to the bed, knees on either side of him, and had one hand fighting away Gilbert's hands while the other worked away at his stomach and ribs. A devious grin speak across the Frenchman's lips as he placed his weight on Gilbert, long fingers dancing away at the sensitive areas. This, of course, earned squeals and suppressed giggles from Gilbert, who thrashed and fought against the one attacking him so relentlessly - all while German profanity and threats poured from his lips.

"After all these years, you're still as ticklish as ever~!" Francis taunted.

Antonio could only crack a smile at the scene. His eyes brightened at the absurdity of it all. And once again, he was being called over to help. Not by Francis this time, but by the one receiving the cruel torture.

"Antonio!" Gilbert cried breathlessly between fits of laughter and giggles. He pushed at the Frenchman's shoulder, but to no avail. "M-mein Gott, man! I... BUAHAHAHA! I never s-s-say this, but..." He erupted into a fit of laughter, squirming this way and that. "HELP ME!"

Oh, help him he would! Antonio grinned, pushing himself up from the chair. He ignored Francis's questioning, pleading eyes as they landed upon him, cracking his knuckles as he walked over. "Help you?" he echoed. "Well, it'll be my pleasure!" Francis's eyes widened as Antonio continued to push onward, his mouth gaping in shock and betrayal. Before Francis could even accuse Antonio of such a thing, he pounced on the bed and positioned himself at Gilbert's head, grabbing both of his wrists and pulling them up toward him. He held them still as he grinned to Francis. "Get him."

And the laughter erupted all the more. Both sets of fingers danced away at the German's sides now, as Gilbert thrashed beneath the weight of the Frenchman. Laughter came bubbling up and out of Antonio as well as he held onto those arms, bracing himself against the bed as to not be pulled forward. He watched as tears overflowed from the corners of Gilbert's eyes before his gaze flicked up to Francis's expression of pure joy. Aah, the joys of having friends like these. Antonio grinned brightly and shouted suggestions from where he sat. "Go for the armpits, the armpits!" he shouted. "The stomach now, the stomach! The hips! Try the hips!"

With each shouted suggestion, there were pleas of, "No, please no! Mein gott! Please, stop! No!" Aah, but of course, that did not stop them. It only caused them to continue on, laughter coming from each of them. They finally listened to their friend, however, when the German suddenly shouted, "N-no! Please, I'm- I'm gonna-! Mein Gott, _I'm gonna piss myself_!"

A few more seconds, and finally the hands stopped. Antonio released the arms he held, laughter once again rising up from him. He gave a bright grin, reaching over to pat the albino's cheek. "There, there, Gil. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Gilbert scoffed, and yet, there was still a smile to be seen. "Ja, ja, whatever. Get off me, you Frenchy," he retorted, pushing at Francis.

The Frenchman easily fell to the side, landing softly on the bed with a breathless laugh. "Oh, mon ami!" he called after the German as he retreated to the bathroom. "Don't be like that!"

Gilbert shot a glare over his shoulder. "Hey, I meant what I said! I gotta piss!" And the door slammed shut. Snickering could be heard from beyond.

Antonio let out another laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Dios mío... Here we are, in our mid-twenties, and we're still tickling each other..." he commented.

Francis glanced to the Spaniard and gave a chuckle of his own. "That's the sign of a good friendship, my dear Toni," he answered. He patted the other's shoulder. "If we did not do such childish things, I would begin to worry. Not laughing when we're around each other is... very unnatural. The air is too still, too suffocating, if there is not laughter between us."

Antonio offered a smile. "That is true..." he agreed. "I guess no matter what, we've always been smiling, hm?"

The Frenchman nodded. "Of course. That is the way of the Bad Touch Trio." A grin.

Antonio scoffed and rolled his eyes, though he could not suppress the chuckle that escaped him. "Really? That nickname again?"

Francis gave a wink. "It is only fitting of us, non? We only want to be touched so badly~!"

Antonio laughed and elbowed Francis's shoulder. "No, that's only you. You're the flirt here, Francis."

Francis gasped in shocked dismay. "Mon dieu! How dare you say such untrue words-!" He then crossed his arms and stuck his nose up in the air. "May I remind you of that sweet young lass we met in America. Or that stunning young lady in Spain! Or perhaps-"

Antonio instantly cut him off, "H-hey, that was a long time ago-!" His cheeks flushed at the memories, his eyes glancing away momentarily. "You said so yourself, remember? A few nights ago, at the bar-"

Francis nodded. "Mmhmm. The night you met that angel of yours."

Antonio elected to ignore that comment. "- you said that you don't skirt chase as much as you used to. None of us do. Hell, Gilbert hardly ever did."

Francis chuckled, blue eyes flicking to the door. "Gilbert has always been the strange one. Perhaps it has to do with how he was raised, but he doesn't seem to be one for romance."

Antonio shook his head. "No," he agreed, "he doesn't. Ludwig's not any better, either."

"Ah, but," Francis pointed out with a twinkle in his eye, "Ludwig has found love. Remember?"

The Spaniard smiled fondly at the memory. "Sí, of course. An Italian, right?"

A nod. "Oui, an Italian. He's a cute one, at that." A brief pause, and a curious gaze. "You have not met him yet, have you?"

Antonio shook his head. "No, I can't say I have. I've heard you, Gilbert, and Ludwig speak of him, but I haven't met him yet. He sounds like a sweetheart, though."

Francis smiled a sincere, almost prideful smile. "That he is. That boy has a heart like no other. It's no wonder Ludwig has fallen so hard for him. Ludwig is a very lucky man."

"It seems like it. Everyone speak so fondly of him! Do you think I'll be meeting him in Germany?"

Francis pondered this for a moment, his gaze flicking away for a moment. "Well..." he began, "I suppose he would be there. He's supposed to be visiting Ludwig right now. For... three months, he said?"

"Aaaah." Antonio sat back, his fingers drumming against his knee. "And that's why we had troubles with the arrangements."

Francis nodded in confirmation. "Gilbert just had to see his little brother. Understandable, considering everything that has happened."

Antonio glanced away. "I do remember him mentioning it... That was why he disappeared for a whole year, wasn't it?"

"It was. He ran off in a hurry when he heard the news. Not that I can blame him." Francis let out a long sigh, his eyes flicking to the bathroom door. "I would, too, if I heard of such a terrible accident... If that had happened to my sister... I'd be back in France in a heartbeat..."

A silence fell upon them. It was not a comfortable one, the weight of the words filling the air and suffocating them both. Antonio breathed in, then slowly breathed out to dispel the tense atmosphere. He cracked a smile. "Ludwig's Italian... What would his name be?" Anything to get off the topic.

Francis looked to Antonio and parted his lips to speak, but alas, the bathroom door opened to reveal Gilbert, who sighed in relief.

"Mein Gott!" Gilbert announced in a bellow, "You two sure know how to make a man's bladder nearly burst!"

The two laughed and Francis gave a triumphant grin. "And if it had done so on the bed, you would be the one paying for the cleaning fees!" he answered.

Gilbert padded along toward the bed, falling back onto it with a sigh. He glared at the two beside him; a silent warning for them to not even think about touching his sides again. No, he could not stand much more of that; Antonio could tell. He folded his arms behind his head, giving his back a bit of a stretch as he laid there. "So, what were you two talking about? I heard Bruder's name."

The Spaniard and the Frenchman glanced to each other. Antonio was unsure if he should even tell. He knew that it was taboo to bring up the horrific event from so many years ago. If he did so, then the German would lock himself up in the bathroom the entire day and refuse to come out.

Thankfully, it was Francis's turn to be the hero, giving a knowing grin and speaking himself, "Why, we were just talking about your brother's adorable little Italian lover!"

At that, Gilbert's entire demeanor changed. His eyes brightened and his grin rivaled the sun. He instantly sat up, his body twisting to face the other two. "You mean Feli? You guys were talking about him und you didn't invite _me_?" He let out a sigh of happiness as he fell back onto the bed, throwing his hands above him. "Feli, man-! Guy's such a cutie! Und I swear, I've never heard Bruder laugh as much as he does with him! Oh, und, und! He makes the _best_ pasta! Now, I'm not a pasta guy, but Feli's pasta!" He shot a beaming grin to his friends. "That stuff's to die for!"

Antonio found himself laughing. So that was his name. Feli. Huh. Seemed... cheerful. It most certainly fit in with what he was hearing about the guy. Oh, if only he actually knew him.

Then he paused.

That name... It almost sounded familiar... His eyebrows furrowed, his lips turning down into a slight frown. Where had he heard that before...? His eyes finally glanced away from his friends as they spoke fondly of the unknown Italian. He could've sworn he had heard that name before... HIs eyebrows furrowed in thought as he racked his brain for answers. He tried to delve deeper into his memory, of perhaps the times he had visited Italy. Which... admittedly... weren't many. In fact, this was the first time he had ever been to Naples.

Then it clicked. He had indeed visited Italy once before, many years ago. It wasn't for long; he was simply passing through as a round-about way to Austria from France. They had stopped through certain parts of Italy before on their trip, including Milan and Venice. And Venice... Something about that place... His eyebrows furrowed all the more and the frown threatened to be a permanent feature at this rate.

Yes, he had indeed visited Venice. But it was for only a single day trip... What had happened there, he wasn't even sure; he couldn't recall. His memory of that day was hazy, yet the name itself was what stuck out.

Perhaps it was just because it was a well known city? He had a feeling. It was the same reason why Milan had suddenly popped into his head. But then why, when he thought of Milan, did it not have the same strange feeling of importance?

His thoughts fled from him as soon as he heard his name and felt a hand upon his shoulder. He jolted at the sudden contact, his serious expression instantly falling away. Curious, questioning eyes locked with worried ones.

"Antonio, are you alright?"

Antonio glanced from Francis to Gilbert. They both were staring at him, expecting an answer. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Uhm... Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

Gilbert rolled his shoulders. "I thought we lost you for a moment there!"

Francis stared for moment longer before breathing out a sigh through his nose and letting his hand fall from the Spaniard's shoulder. "You worry me sometimes, Antonio... But, if you say you are fine, then I will believe you."

"I dunno, man. He's been acting strange since he got here."

Francis glanced to Gilbert. "He does have a point. You've been obsessing a lot over that angel of yours."

Antonio looked to the other two, perplexed. "What-?" he spat out. "Where did that come from? And why do you keep saying 'my angel'?"

"That's all you've been calling her. An angel, a siren..."

"Ja, you haven't even given us a name. You aren't even using gender pronouns for them! C'mon, seriously. Guy or girl?"

Antonio breathed out a sigh. "That has nothing to do with it! My mind was on something else."

"Aah, right, you still have to get your guitar, don't you?" Gilbert mused. He hummed, red eyes darting away as he rubbed at his chin. They then flicked to the window. "It's getting kinda late. The sun should be setting soon, I think. You said you were supposed to pick it up today, right?"

Well. Better than trying to pick through memories. He nodded. "Before sunset, I'm guessing." He hid it as best as he could, but he could not deny the fact that he was a little too interested in this topic. He had been waiting to leave all day, but with the rain being the way it has been, well... It seemed impossible.

"Seems like a reasonable time to assume," Francis agreed. "Though, as Gilbert said, the sun is already setting." He glanced to Gilbert, then to Antonio. "Did she give you any reason why you can't pick it up after today? I'm sure she'll understand if you-"

"No. No..." Antonio sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I made a promise, and I want to stick to it."

"That may be so," Francis pointed out, "but you can't hold your promises all the time. Things come up. You of all people should know that."

Antonio could feel a twinge of regret and pain in his chest at the mention. He knew just what Francis was referring to, and he most certainly did not like it being brought up. He instantly glanced away, a frown on his lips. "If I can change it, I would. You know that just as well as anyone, Francis," he spoke quietly, almost bitterly, in retort. He tore his gaze away from the others, focusing it to his hands folded in his lap. "When the rain lets up, I'll go get my guitar. I don't want anymore unfulfilled promises. That's over now. If I promise something, I'll go through with it."

He could feel Francis's eyes on him, though he was no longer interested in the conversation that was taking place. If anything, he simply wanted to just return to that seat by the window and stare out at the rain. A childish notion, perhaps, but he felt that he could save himself from the growing, dull ache in his chest if he did so. He could handle the conversation in the beginning. But... He shook the thoughts off.

"All this for a promise of getting a guitar? Don't you think you're overreacting?" Gilbert spoke up.

Green eyes flicked to his friends, then to the window as he sat back and pressed his palms against his jeans. He remained silent. He knew; he hadn't made a promise. He had simply agreed to pick it up today, and hardly even that. But... He had made a promise to himself. His lips formed a thin line as the thought entered his mind. He wanted to see him. Learn more of him. Teach him. To teach him how to play the guitar... He supposed that would be the promise that he had made, though he had not used those words exactly.

"It's not just the guitar you're after. Is it?"

The voice belonged to Francis this time. Antonio's shoulders stiffened at the accusation.

No. No, it wasn't just the guitar. He had already come to that realization earlier today. No matter how many times he tried to deny it, he could not. That thought would only return. No. More like... _He_ would always return to the Spaniard's thoughts. It wasn't a single one, it was multiples. Wondering what he was doing, how he was doing, what he would do when Antonio suddenly showed up at his door... He knew that if he went, he would have to return back to the hotel as soon as he had the guitar in his hands. But somehow, that just... didn't matter. He wanted to leave.

It was stupid. All of it was stupid. He held his breath for a moment before heaving out a sigh, slow and heavy, through his nostrils. He knew what he had to do. Just... stop seeing him entirely. He had to leave for Germany at the end of the week. He knew that. He only had a week here in Italy to begin with, and then he would have to follow his friends on their long journey home - his final stop being Spain. And damnit, he had only known Lovino for a few short days. Who was he to say that he wanted to see more of him?

It was all so very stupid...

And so, he found out exactly what he was going to say. "It's not like that," he spoke as he shifted to lean against the headrest. He picked at the fabric of his jeans. "I know my boundaries and I know what's best for me. We're just... friends." If he could even call him that. He couldn't consider lovino a friend; they hardly knew each other. His eyes flicked to Francis. "Maybe. Friends at _most_. Acquaintances at least." What the hell would he even call him...? He didn't know. Would he ever?

No. He wouldn't. He would leave on a plane at the end of the week. On Friday, he would be on his way to Germany; today was Tuesday. Only a few days left... He swallowed at the thought, tearing his eyes away from Francis's concerned ones. He knew too much... Antonio could see it in his eyes. He could see the doubt and understanding. Francis could always tell; he was remarkable at reading others. Antonio especially... They had quite the history together, the Spaniard could admit.

Francis placed a hand on Antonio's knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I've known you for years now, Antonio. You don't think of this 'angel' as just a friend, do you?" he spoke cautiously. "At the very least, you don't want to. There's more to it than that."

Did he? His lips formed a thin line. He glanced up to Francis, his eyebrows furrowing. The hand pulled away from his knee, and with the gentle expression Francis portrayed, he couldn't keep the frown that had pulled at the corners of his lips. He breathed out. "It's not like that..."

"But it's getting close to it. Isn't it?"

It dawned on him. Yes. Yes, it was indeed... Lovino was interesting. To say the very, very least... And last night, though he could chalk it up to being a spur-of-the-moment thing, he could not easily dismiss it. He could feel a bit of the colour drain from his face at the realization being at the forefront. He swallowed, and instantly glanced away.

"You don't want to get hurt again, do you?"

That question. The same thing he had asked himself last night... His blood ran cold, then he almost felt a fire ignite in him. The memories flooded back in a tidal wave, and he could hear Francis's name spoken in warning from Gilbert. At least one of them had a clear head. He was always careful not to bring up topics he knew would upset the other two. He was always cautious of that. He knew of what to avoid, and what was safe to comment on. But this... This was not something 'safe'.

He swallowed thickly, rubbing his palms together. His shoulders felt tense, and outside, he could hear the thunder rumbling in the distance. "Just drop it, Francis..." he warned quietly.

"I'm just trying to look ou-"

"I said drop it!" He hadn't meant to yell. But in all honesty, that had been the last straw. First the promise thing, and now this? He had done some idiotic things in the past, and he was fully aware of that. But did it really warrant a reason for it to be brought up, time and time again? He threw his legs off the bed and stood up.

"Antonio-"

"Look, what she and I had, it doesn't matter anymore," he cut in. He sent a sharp glare toward Francis, feeling tears burn in his eyes.

Gilbert growled in frustration, raking a hand through his hair. He muttered a phrase in German and lightly smacked the Frenchman's arm.

"I did some pretty messed up things, and I accept that. I apologized for them again and again, and you know what? It doesn't matter. Because _I_ was the one who messed up. I broke... so many promises. I did so many things wrong. If I could go back and change it all, I would." He found himself pacing the hotel room. His hands reached up to pull out the cross from within his shirt and began rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger; a sort of calming mechanism for him. "I lied, I cheated, I broke promises, I made excuses... I did so much - and don't even try to tell me it wasn't my fault."

He could feel his limbs trembling as the memories flooded his mind. Each fight, each tear, each accusation... He swallowed thickly. "I was a stupid... _stupid_ man. But you know what, Francis? All that doesn't matter anymore." He dropped the silver cross, letting it fall to his chest. He looked to him. "I've changed. You've seen it. And I know Gilbert has. I'm _trying_ to be better than that! I know what I am doing."

He hadn't meant to go off like this. Truly, he hadn't. But each and every time he even flirted with a woman, the same conversation would come up... Francis would watch over him like a father would his son - if not overbearingly so. For years, it had been that way, no matter what he would do. "She's happy, I'm happy, that's all that matters. I moved on. Why can't _you_?"

Francis stared on in stunned silence. His body was rigid, his eyes fixated on the Spaniard standing in the middle of the room. Gilbert, on the other hand, settled on glaring at the back of Francis's head, his back rested against the wall and his arms crossed defiantly across his chest. Antonio knew that if Gilbert spoke, it would be German curses.

Finally, Francis dropped his gaze. His shoulders slumped and his whole demeanor reflected the guilt he felt for even bringing it up. "Je suis désolé, mon cher ami..." he spoke quietly. "I did not mean to upset you. I was only trying to look out for you..."

Antonio pinched the bridge of his nose. "Francis... It's been _three years_. I was a wreck before, and I know that. But I'm better _now_. I'm fine _now_. Stop living in the past," he answered calmly. "Please... Francis... Just let it go. I'm okay. I was only hurt because of my own stupid actions. I'm not going to repeat them."

Silence filled the room, save for the gentle tapping of the rain against the glass. There wasn't even the sound of thunder to be heard.

Truthfully, Antonio was thankful for it. He knew that he had hurt Francis. And likewise, Francis had hurt him. The lack of words meant the less possibility of either of them hurting the other more than they already had. He could not alleviate the pain in his heart, the guilt that weighed him down, even now. And now, he truthfully felt guilty for ranting at his friend. He knew full well that the Frenchman was only trying to help; so was the way of Francis Bonnefoy.

Antonio stepped forward, making his way over to the bed. He then leaned down and took Francis into his arms, pulling him into a tight embrace - as best as he could, given his posture. He could feel hands at his shoulders, pulling him closer, as a head buried into his shoulder. "I am sorry, Francis, for yelling. I know you mean well," he whispered quietly. "But I am a grown man, just as you are. I have made mistakes, and I have learned from them. Please, if I am to make another mistake, then let me make it. I will learn from it."

Francis breathed out, his fingers digging into the fabric of the Spaniard's shirt. "Alright... I apologize for bringing you pain..." he replied, just as soft.

"As do I..." Antonio pulled away from the hug and smiled down to his friend. "You are a great friend to me, Francis. I don't need you being a father as well." The smile was returned and he took a few steps back.

"Let him go."

Antonio was surprised to hear the voice did not belong to either him or Francis, but rather, Gilbert. And judging by the look on Francis's face, he was not alone in his bewilderment. He looked to Gilbert just as Francis did.

Gilbert glanced between the two. "Go on. Go get your guitar or whatever it is you want to do. The rain's let up." A brief pause. "At least. The thunder stopped."

A smile cracked onto Antonio's lips. What for, he wasn't even sure.

Francis, on the other hand, looked at GIlbert as if he had grown two heads. "Are you serious?"

Gilbert shrugged. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, right?" he answered. "You saw how Bruder got with Feli. Guy was borderline depressed if he couldn't see his cute little Italian."

Antonio sighed, exasperated. "I told you, it's not-"

Gilbert raised a hand to stop him. "I know. I know. It's not like that," he began, "but you still like this person. Enough to want to see them while you're here. Und you're only here for so long. Us? You see us all the time. So. Go on. Get out of here." Despite his words, he was calm. Probably the calmest of the lot, to be entirely honest.

A moment of hesitation and Antonio finally stepped away from his friends. He turned away and sat at the edge of his bed, tugging on one shoe, and then the other. He could hear them mumbling to one another, but he could not hear the words spoken between them. He could, however, hear the light paps of Gilbert smacking Francis every now and then, and the lighter smacks returned by the Frenchman. Of course they would be arguing. Antonio had seen the glares the Prussian-blooded man had been giving his French friend during the entire discussion. As soon as both shoes were on, he stood and snatched his phone from the dresser, pocketing it.

"But Antonio..."

He heard the name as he was walking toward the door. He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder to Francis. Once again, there was that fatherly, worried look in the man's eyes. He looked to be much older than what he truly was...

"If you do get hurt..." Francis began, "we'll be here for you. Remember that this time. Okay?"

Antonio cracked a smile and gave a nod. "Of course," he spoke sincerely. "Thank you, guys." He opened the door. "I'll... I'll be back before supper."

And he was off. Like Gilbert said, the rain itself hadn't let up entirely, but the thunder had stopped. But even the downpour of rain was enough cause for him to run. When he had bounded out of the hotel, it was simply just a drizzle. But as he ran, sneakers pounding against the wet asphalt, the rain seemed to only grow heavier, resulting in a complete downpour. He pushed himself onward, his heart racing a mile a minute as he continued. He could feel the fabric begin to cling to the curves of his body, feel his hair plaster to the contours of his face.

Curse Lovino for living so far from the hotel-! He groaned as the heavens unleashed even more rain, the falling water droplets nearly drowning out the sound of his pounding footsteps. He darted around corners and splashed through puddles, long since giving up the thought of taking refuge under awnings and balconies in order to protect himself from the onslaught. No, he was already being soaked to the bone, and he already had such a long way to go.

The sky, too, was darkening with thick clouds, signalling that the rain would not be letting up anytime soon. His breath escaped in hot gasps as his arms swung at his sides, stumbling as he turned down yet another street. He quickly danced around a pedestrian who had the luxury of an umbrella, shouting out an apology over his shoulder. He had no time to slow down; he had to make it there and back as quickly as possible. How he was going to transport the guitar in the rain, well... That was something he would have to figure out when he got there. But for now, he had to keep his promise and show that he had indeed not forgotten about the Italian after returning to the hotel from last night.

Finally, Lovino's house came into view. It looked so much different in the day... Each time he had seen it, the sun had been setting or had already disappeared beyond the horizon. And each time he had walked up to it, his eyes were focused on one thing and one thing only. But now that he saw it in the somewhat daylight, even with the darkened sky, he could see the many flowers and plants growing around the front of the house. It almost startled him, to suddenly notice so much foliage growing from planters. He hadn't taken Lovino to be the green thumb sort of guy, but judging by how healthy these all seemed to be... he had quite a knack for it.

Antonio slowed as he came to the house, slowing to a jog before finally stopping before the door. His chest heaved with laboured breaths, his hair and clothes soaked and dripping with water. His eyes flicked among all the plants, trying to tell if he could name them or not. ... No. No, he could not. Too bad. Many of them, though, were beautiful flowers of varying colours and styles. He swallowed as his eyes finally fell upon the door. He only had to lift his hand and ring. Only had to...

Why was he frozen in place?

His breath did not catch in his throat; no, he kept breathing. But he could not move, other than that. His eyes stared to the door, flicked to the windows. They were dark. Each and every one of them was dark. He swallowed thickly. Perhaps he should leave. Perhaps Lovino wasn't even home.

No. No, he could not just leave. He pushed away the fear and uncertainty clouding his heart and mind and forced his body to move. Hesitantly, he lifted a hand. The ringing chime echoed through the house as soon as the button was pressed, his arm falling to his side. Huh. He had never tried ringing the Italian's doorbell before... He had only dropped him off; twice, now.

He held his breath. His eyes stared at the door before him. ... Lovino would come, right? Of course he would. He had to. Antonio had been told to come today, and here he was. Standing in front of his door. Waiting for it to open. But it did not. He breathed out the breath he had been holding and took a step back. Perhaps he was not home after all. He would just have to walk back to the hotel and-

Suddenly, the lock clicked. Slowly, the Italian peeked out from a behind the door. He looked... so very tired... There were dark circles under puffy red eyes, bloodshot and lacking the fire that Antonio oh so admired. No. No, it was still there, but it seemed as though it had died to mere embers. His hair was disheveled and his clothes - a pair of boxers and a simple tank - were wrinkled, as though he had worn them while tossing and turning. But upon seeing who was behind the door, the fire seemed to reignite, though only a fraction. Green eyes opened wider and the Italian stood taller. "What the-"

Lovino looked him up and down, throwing open the door wider. He growled something under his breath before he glanced inside, then back to Antonio. "Fuckin'... What the hell are you even- You know you're-" He heaved out a sigh and quickly waved for Antonio to come inside, bare foot padding along the tile floor.

Just as Antonio stepped into the entryway, Lovino stopped short in his tracks, spun around, and pointed accusingly at the Spaniard. "You. Stand right there. Don't you dare fuckin' move. I just mopped this damn floor this morning. Take off your shoes before you get mud everywhere, idiot!" And he was running down the hallway, avoiding the stairs to his right.

Antonio hesitated where he stood before he silently obeyed by slipping his shoes off his feet, grimacing at the feeling of his wet socks. Okay, so maybe he didn't think that through... He set them down next to the doorway and removed his socks, placing them on the top of the soaked shoes. He closed the door carefully behind him, careful not to move from the entryway. And Lovino returned, towels in his arms. But ah, of course it wouldn't stay there long. It was soon chucked at the Spaniard as the other towel was draped over the shoes.

"Gracias!" Antonio spoke cheerfully as he dried off his hair, then worked toward his clothes. Man. There was no way he was going to wring all this water out... Maybe he would just have to stand here during his visit, until he figured out how to get the guitar back to the room.

"Gracias my ass," Lovino retorted as he bundled up the shoes into the towel and straightened his posture. He shot a glare toward the Spaniard. "The hell you doin' here, anyway?"

Antonio tried his best to dry off his shirt, squeezing what he could of the fabric with the towel. "I promised I would get my guitar today, didn't I?"

Lovino stared. Then his eyes flicked away and Antonio followed his gaze to the guitar propped up against the couch not too far off. He snorted. "In the pouring fuckin' rain. Somehow I doubt that." He then walked off, walking past the stairs and hanging a right, disappearing around where Antonio assumed the stairs ended. A light flicked on, flooding the hall with a golden glow. "Just take off your damn shirt and pants! They're goin' in the drier!"

Wait. What. Antonio stared at where Lovino had disappeared, completely dumbfounded. Was he really expected to- Oh great God above. He felt his cheeks flush, glancing down to the soaking wet clothes. It did make sense... But he wasn't planning on being here for long. He sighed and looked back up, giving a grin to the unseen Italian. "It's okay! I'm just getting my guitar and going!"

"In this rain? You're a complete and total fuckin' moron! You're not goin' anywhere! Now take off your damn clothes!"

Well. He knew Lovino was aggressive and rash, but this much so? He couldn't help but laugh. "So you mean I get to stay?"

Lovino poked his head out from around the corner. He looked to not even be wearing a shirt anymore, given the bare shoulders. That, of course, did not help Antonio's mind in the least, causing his ears to burn. "I am _not_ letting you ruin that guitar. Now hurry the fuck up!" And he disappeared again.

Antonio let out a sigh. Well. He was a guest now, and he supposed he had to listen to his host... He set the towel aside and peeled off his shirt, letting it drop to the floor. _Sploosh_. Okay, that sounded a bit disgusting. He crinkled his nose at the sound, but elected to ignore it for now, undoing his belt and zipper. And as soon as his phone was safely beside him, off went his pants. He carefully stepped out of each leg, having to hop a bit in order to actually get it off. His thumbs hooked at the hem of his waistband, but before he could, there was a shriek from down the hallway.

"NO, YOU IDIOT, NOT THOSE!"

He stopped instantly. Wide, surprised eyes snapped up to find a fully-dressed Italian rushing down the hall. Yup, he was now wearing a t-shirt and pants, with more clothes draped over his arm. They were soon throw in Antonio's direction, the articles landing around his face and shoulders. "Put those on. You're about my size, I think."

Antonio peeled the warm clothes - must've just gotten out of the drier - away from his face and watched as the Italian once again retreated down the hall. Wait, did he have his wet clothes in his hands? Yes. Yes, he did. And now that Antonio could actually see him, in the dim light, he could see the Italian's ears a lovely shade of bright red. Well then. He cleared his throat and let out a nervous laugh. "Lo siento, Lovi! I thought you meant-"

"IT'S LOVINO!"

Another laugh and Antonio sent an apologetic smile down the hall, though he knew that the other could not see it. He finished drying off and carefully pulled on the sweat pants and baggy t-shirt he was given. Or at least, he assumed it was supposed to be baggy. It seemed to not even be a shirt that Lovino could fit in. He dipped down to retrieve his phone from where he had placed it, turning it on to assure himself that it still worked. Good. He hadn't killed it by soaking his pants. He checked the sweats and upon realizing that they did indeed have pockets, he slid the small device into one of them. ... Was he allowed to move now? He wasn't even sure. He hesitated where he stood, eyes flicking this way and that. Well. Better safe than sorry.

Sighing in defeat, Antonio decided it was probably best not to anger the Italian further. He would have to just stand here and wait for him to come back, it seemed. Leaning against the door, Antonio cross his arms and instead decided to survey his surroundings.

The house seemed to be of a rather simple build. There were tile floors all throughout the hallway, and extended through the archway to Antonio's right, which seemed to lead into the dining room and kitchen areas. Beyond the dining area, he could see a sliding glass door. What lay beyond was anyone's guess. The archway to his left, straight across the hall from the dining area, contained the living room with a cozy-looking fireplace, the tile flooring turning to a wooden one. And, of course, his beloved guitar propped up against one of the couches. When he looked straight ahead, he could see the stairs to the right of the hall that no doubt lead up to the bedroom and... whatever the hell else was up there. He hummed. Small, but cozy. He quite liked it.

Finally, the sounds of the drier doing its job echoed through the home and the Italian retreated to the front of the house, flicking on a few lights as he went. "Why'd you have to come now of all times, huh? I was just layin' down to sleep."

"This early?" Antonio could see Lovino's eye twitch, ever so slightly. So he had caught him in a lie.

Lovino rolled his eyes and ventured on into the kitchen, motioning for Antonio to follow. "It's called a nap, you dipshit."

"Wow, you really know a large variety of insults, don't you?"

"Comes with the I-Don't-Give-A-Fuck handbook," Lovino retorted without missing a beat.

Antonio found himself chuckling, leaning against the kitchen counter as Lovino made his way to the pot on the stove. He hummed, noting that the flame was at its lowest setting. He blinked at the sight of it, his eyebrows furrowing. "You were going to sleep with a pot on the stove?" No escaping it now; he had indeed caught Lovino in the middle of a lie.

Lovino glanced over his shoulder at the Spaniard as he removed the lid. The delicious aroma of tomato sauce wafted out and filled the kitchen as he did so. "It's meant to be left alone for hours on end," he argued as he picked up a spoon and stirred it. Seemed that he was intent on hiding the truth... "You're not supposed to even open it very often. Don't you know anything about cooking pasta?"

"Considering I'm from Spain and pasta isn't one of my main dishes, no. No, I don't."

"Hm." Lovino closed the lid once more and set the spoon aside. He then took up his spot against the counter opposite of Antonio, crossing his arms. "Well, I suppose tonight's the night to learn. You leave it on the stove for hours to let the herbs season the sauce for a stronger flavour."

Antonio stared for a moment. Why would Lovino... Oh. Was he...? His eyebrows furrowed. He couldn't be. He cracked a smile, amusement taking over his features. No harm in asking. "Are you actually inviting me over for dinner?" He could see the traces of a blush creep up onto the Italian's cheeks. His smile only grew wider, his own heart fluttering in his chest at the mere thought. "You are, aren't you?"

Lovino's cheeks grew darker and his shoulders stiffened. A glare was shot Antonio's way, but of course, there was no effect on him. "You..." He huffed and glanced away. "Don't let it get to your damn head. I'm not making you carry that thing out there in the damn rain and damnit, those are _my_ clothes. You aren't allowed to take those home. And your clothes are in the drier, so it's not like you can go anywhere, either."

Antonio couldn't help but to laugh, much to Lovino's aggravation. He ignored the glare that was shot his way, taking note of the blush that darkened Lovino's cheeks all the more. "You're very kind, Lovino."

"Shut up..."

"It's okay to say that you can't throw someone back out into the rain, you know."

Lovino's eyes locked with Antonio's. There was silence as his answer. Again, Antonio could see that cloud of emotions swirling through his eyes - though admittedly, they were dulled. Then finally Lovino looked away with a sigh through his nose. "... Fine. I can't kick you out into the damn rain, okay?" he admitted with annoyance lacing his tone, "You're still a human. A living being. So I'm obligated to treat you as such. Not to mention that you become my guest the moment you stepped through that damn door."

Which brought up another point. The night before, Lovino had not allowed Antonio inside. He had been soaking wet at that time, too, yet he was made to walk home. Antonio chuckled as he looked to Lovino, his head tilting ever so slightly. He could not shake the feeling that the Italian was not speaking the entire truth. "Really... You didn't have to let me in, Lovino."

"I couldn't leave you out there in the rain, either," Lovino retorted without missing a beat.

Antonio held fast to his belief; Lovino was indeed kind. He chuckled, but said nothing more on the subject. Afterall, he was a guest, and as such, he had to treat his host with kindness and respect. This was Lovino's home; not his own. He retrieved his phone from his pocket and held it up to bring attention to it. "May I?"

At first, Lovino seemed confused, but after a brief moment, he nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

The Spaniard flashed a smile of gratitude and pushed away from the counter. He held the phone in his hand as he padded away from the kitchen and through the dining room, out into the hallway. As he walked, he searched through his contacts until he finally got to Francis's, bringing it up and pressing 'call'. He pressed the phone against his ear as he ventured into the living room, ignoring the distant rumble of thunder. His eyes flicked out the window, pausing for a moment when he realized just what kind of window it was. It stuck out the slightest bit, and had a window seat built into it. It seemed like the perfect place to just sit and read a book, and just as he had realized this, his eyes took notice of the book that lay on the sil.

He cracked a smile. So Lovino had used it for that purpose entirely. Interesting... Lovino was only growing more and more interesting in Antonio's eyes. His thoughts were soon cut off when he finally heard a voice on the other end.

_"Allô?"_

"Hola, Francis, it's Antonio."

 _"I could tell. You are in my contacts."_ A chuckle from the other end.

A small laugh. "Yeah, I guess you have a point. But anyways... Francis... I might be a bit late today. It started raining harder and now I'm kinda stuck here."

There was silence from the other end, then he could hear quiet mumblings. He could tell that Francis had simply just pulled away the phone from his mouth. The voices themselves seemed to be at normal volume; just not close enough for him to hear. A bright lightning strike filled the room with light, a loud clap of thunder following shortly after. Then the voice was right next to the receiver again when Francis spoke, _"Oui, we can see that. It started storming pretty bad again."_

Antonio sighed. "Yeah... I know I said I'd be back by dinner, but... I dunno if I can." Not to mention he had sort of been invited to eat dinner with his host, though he dared not to mention this to Francis. Another clap of thunder, this one farther away and dying down into a rumble. "I'm going to try to be back before midnight. As soon as the rain lets up, I'll leave."

 _"Non, I would not worry about it,"_ the voice answered, _"enjoy your time there, mon ami. Gilbert and I will be waiting for you when the storm clears."_

He found himself frowning. "But, Francis, I pro-"

 _"No you did not,"_ the Frenchman interjected. _"You said you would be back, oui, but you did not promise."_

Antonio closed his mouth and listened as the Frenchman continued.

 _"It's alright. Gilbert and I will find plenty of activities to occupy our time. We will be just fine. Neither of us will be upset with you, even if you have to return in the morning."_ A pause. _"Do try to have fun, alright? We will be fine."_

Antonio smiled. "Yeah... Yeah, okay. Gracias, Francis."

_"Of course. I will speak to you later, Antonio."_

"Likewise." They said their goodbyes and ended the call. Well. At least that was off his chest. He smiled slightly and pocketed the phone. He then turned and made his way back toward the kitchen. But as soon as he entered, his heart stopped.

Lovino was standing there with all colour drained from his face, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. He stood slumped against the counter, both arms crossed and nails biting into the flesh of his forearms. His nostrils flared with uneven breaths. Sweat beaded across his forehead and- well, in truth, it looked like the poor man had just seen a ghost.

Antonio rushed forward, his brows creasing in worry. "Lovino-?" He was at his side in a moment, hands reaching for his shoulders. Gently, he grasped at them. Wild, fearful eyes locked onto his as the quick breathing hitched. His heart stopped at the amount of fear and desperation that shone within those beautiful green eyes. He almost expected a scream to leave Lovino's lips, at that very moment. But it didn't come. He brushed the fringe out of the other's eyes. "Lovino, hey- It's okay- It's just me. It's okay..."

Irritation flickered within Lovino's eyes, his expression instantly contorting into strained annoyance. He brushed off the hand and pushed farther against the counter. "Of course I fuckin' know it's you, idiot." His voice cracking only once. He swallowed, and Antonio could tell by the way the jaw bobbed that Lovino was working his tongue in his mouth to help rewet it. "I'm fine."

Hesitant at first, Antonio pulled away, letting go of the arm. No. He wasn't fine. Fight or flight instinct had kicked in, and everything was telling Lovino to 'run'. He had seen the way the muscles had tensed, how the eyes had flickered with emotions that would lead to that kind of response. But, it was not his place to press on. It was not his place to force the other to speak ."Alright..." he spoke, stepping back.

He did not like the glare he received. It was weak and didn't hold its usual annoyance. No, Lovino still seemed skittish and way too withdrawn. Granted, Lovino clearly wasn't a very outgoing person, and Antonio technically was intruding upon his home. But that, Antonio assumed, warranted a different kind of reaction. This one... No, Lovino was afraid of something. Of someone. As Lovino busied himself away with filling another pot and setting it on the stove, Antonio made note to carefully look around the kitchen. He easily located another door to what he assumed was a storage room, but quickly dismissed it and continued his search and mental checklist. No open windows... No open doors... No notes or papers... Everything in here seemed safe.

His attention was suddenly caught by a jolt from the Italian, a spoon falling from his hand and landing on the ground. An Italian curse left the man's lips as he bent down to retrieve said spoon. And as Lovino rushed to the sink to rinse off the fallen utensil, Antonio pondered as to what made him so jumpy. Surely he didn't drop spoons on a regular basis. He watched as a shaky hand raked through disheveled auburn locks, his own lips forming a thin line.

He did not like this. Whatever was bothering Lovino, he decided he did not like it.

"How long?"

Antonio watched as Lovino jumped, as though he had forgotten that the Spaniard was even there. The Italian whirled around, bewilderment and slight annoyance in his eyes. "Che-?"

Antonio offered a smile. "How long until it's done?"

Lovino glanced away to focus on the pot, then back to Antonio. "... About fifteen minutes."

"Anything I can do to help?"

Lovino rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off when Antonio lifted a hand.

"No. I want to help," he spoke. He lowered his hand again, offering a kind smile. "My cooking is limited to a lot of the foods you'd see in Spain. My friends were both very picky with their food. Especially Francis. He would not let anyone step one foot into his kitchen." Though he was not sure if Lovino would be interested in such a topic or not, he decided he might as well try. "Not because I blew anything up, or I can't cook. I can cook very well! Or so I like to believe. But. He loved cooking, and didn't want anyone in his kitchen because of it.

"One time, I was looking for him and stepped into his kitchen. Next thing I knew, there was a knife embedded into the wall right next to my head!" He let out a laugh at this, watching as Lovino actually took the story. So at least he caught his interest. The Italian rested against the counter, crossing his arms and focusing his attention on the one speaking. "He threw it without looking! Can you believe it?

"And the glare he sent me-! Dios mío!" Antonio glanced upward. "I thought I was going to die-! The Holy Spirit must have been watching over me that day because when he threw another one, I moved out of the way just in time! It was just a butter knife, but still, it would've hurt."

Finally, the Italian cracked a smile. Well, more like a smirk, and it was a tired one, at that. But even so, it lifted Antonio's spirits. He became more animated with his story, using his hands to tell it as he went.

"You wouldn't believe what happened at dinner that night! I was waiting patiently in the dining room, like I was told to, and he came out with the chicken he was apparently cooking. And the way he looked at me when he was cutting into it-! It was as if he was imagining he was cutting _me_ open, not the chicken!" He huffed out a breath of air and once again glanced skyward. "I have never prayed for my safety as much as I had that night."

"Wow, you're quite the religious nut, aren't ya?"

What? His eyes flicked back to Lovino, mildly surprised. He then laughed and flashed a grin. "No, no, I wouldn't call myself a religious nut. I believe in God, but I'm not... No." He laughed lightly. "I won't hit you on the head with a bible and claim you're a sinner, if that's what you mean."

Lovino rolled his shoulders in a shrug. "Not what I meant, but good to know. You believe in Him, is what I'm askin'." Ah. Just the wording was strange... It was understandable, given Lovino's usual harsh tongue. An insult was a compliment with him, it seemed.

Antonio rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away. "Well... Yeah, I suppose..." When his eyes returned to Lovino, the Italian was retrieving noodles and throwing them into the boiling pot of water. "I guess you could say I'm Catholic? I mean... I don't really care what anyone else believes in, and I have my own views and ideas on it, but... I still believe in the basic teachings of Catholicism. Why?"

"Hm. No reason," Lovino answered as he busied himself with the dinner. "I was raised Catholic. My brothers, grandfather, and I are all Catholic. But. Sometimes I wonder..."

"And what do you mean by that?"

Green eyes flicked over to Antonio. "Sometimes I believe He exists, sometimes I don't. I'm not really sure myself. It depends on the day, I guess." An audible sigh and the eyes returned to where Antonio could not see. "If there is a god, He's got a horrid sense of humour..."

Antonio had a feeling he had not meant to hear that last part, given that it was grumbled. But, he had, and it surprised him. He was silent for a moment before, "Why the sudden religion topic?"

There was a slight pause, then Lovino slowly shook his head. "I'm not exactly sure. Just... had to ask. I guess."

Somehow, he didn't fully believe that answer. His lips formed a thin line as he watched the other. He seemed rigid. Tense. But at the same time, it looked as though he was on the edge of just sliding to the ground. His movements were choppy, and every now and then, he would suddenly jerk, only to mutter a curse under his breath. Antonio could only help but to watch, his curiosity piqued.

He hummed lightly. "Well," he began, crossing his arms before him and leaning against the counter, "usually when someone asks something like that, there's a solid reason behind it."

Lovino breathed out a sigh of annoyance and once again looked over his shoulder. "It was brought up by the fact that you kept mentionin' God in your damn story and I got curious, alright. What else is there? Santo cielo, I'm only human."

Antonio threw his hands up in defense. "Hey, hey, no harm done. I don't mind it. It's just..." He hesitated a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just awkward..."

"Awkward," Lovino repeated. He turned fully to Antonio. "And why would you say that?"

Did he really want to explain that? Nervously, he glanced away and shifted his position. He crossed his arms once more, as if they would form some sort of barrier. "Well... It's just... When I say I'm Catholic, people automatically assume the worst?"

"Isn't that with just about any religion or belief?"

Okay, so he did have a point. No matter what you would say, one would always assume the worst of it. That, Antonio had noticed. He breathed out a sigh. "I guess you are right in that... But..." He trailed off, unsure if he should even delve into this kind of topic.

"But...?" Looks like Lovino wouldn't drop it.

He hesitated for a moment longer. Then, Antonio breathed out a sigh. "You've heard about the law passed in Spain, sí? The, uh... The gay marriage law."

Instantly, Lovino tensed. Okay... So it was a bad idea. Slowly, the Italian nodded. "I have."

Antonio's eyes flicked away for a moment. "Well... I was someone who was hoping the bill would pass," he spoke carefully. He couldn't bring himself to look to Lovino. "I... believe... God loves all people. No matter what. That not all sins are... How to put it... Not everything it says is wrong will send you to Hell. Some things are... really absurd. They're good morals to go by, don't get me wrong, but..." He sighed once more, shifting on his feet and chewing on his lip. "They... are more like... guidelines? I guess? You don't have to follow them to a T, but... if you keep messing up, really bad, and it hurts others... Then you'll be damned. Not... Not for... loving someone, or thinking differently than others, or... or even lying in bed with another before marriage."

It was strange, to voice these thoughts. Sure, he had spoken to Francis and Gilbert about them, but those were his two best friends. He had known them for as long as he could remember, and he trusted them. "So... when people find out I'm Catholic... Because of the extremists, I guess... They automatically think I'm... against... Well. Some people. I know that goes for anyone of any religion - trust me, I've seen how others have reacted to people of other religions - but... Hey. It gives reason to keep religion out of conversation." Finally, he looked to Lovino, only to find that he had gone back to stirring the pasta.

A moment of silence had passed before Lovino finally spoke up. He looked over his shoulder with mild disinterest. "Oh. Are you finally done ramblin'?" He waved the spoon in a nonchalant way. "I don't care about what you believe in, idiot. I didn't want to hear your whole damn life story." He turned back to the pot, turning off the heat. He lifted it from the stove and carried it over to the sink. He poured its contents into a strainer, letting the water drain out before returning it to the pot. "Yeah, it's good and all that you accept gays and whatnot. I suppose that would be my biggest concern, considerin' that my brother is."

Woah, where did that come from. He knew that Lovino seemed to be a bit protective of his brother, and most certainly loved him, but suddenly bringing something like that up? He couldn't even think of a proper way to respond. "Oh. Uh. Really?"

A nod and the pan returned to the stove. Lovino retrieved two plates and set them aside. "Get the cheese from the fridge and sprinkle it into the sauce. Stir it," he spoke calmly.

Antonio quickly listened, following the instructions. "This much?" he asked as soon as the cheese had been added. Lovino glanced, and with a nod of approval, the Spaniard stirred the cheese into the sauce.

"But yes, he is. He's got himself a bastard of a boyfriend. Frankly, I hate the guy."

Antonio listened with interesting, casting a glance to the one next to him. "Really..." He was truly intrigued with the conversation, but judging by the way Lovino spoke, there was something more to be known. He listened, nonetheless, and finished stirring the sauce as Lovino scooped noodles from the pan and onto the plates.

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Guy's a monster of a man. Looks like he can break my damn brother in half just by breathin' on him. Pass me the ladle."

Antonio reached into the container storing all the utensils and pulled out the required one, handing it over to the Italian. He glanced skyward at the sudden rumble of thunder, his stomach twisting at how the house seemed to quake. That one was much too close... He glanced sideways to Lovino when he heard a mumbled curse, his eyebrows furrowing. "If you worry he's going to do that, why don't you keep your brother away?"

Lovino glanced to Antonio with a bewildered expression. But when he did, Antonio could also spy fear in those green orbs. "You kiddin' me?" he retorted. "Guy's all he talks about!" He snorted and went back to serving the dish, motioning for Antonio to step out of the way so he could reach the sauce. "Santo cielo... If I ever tried to keep Fratellino away from that damn bastard..." He snorted, but then quieted for a moment. Antonio watched as the other's brows furrowed and his lips formed a thin line. "... If I ever did that... If I seriously tried... He'd hate me forever. He'd fall apart without that guy. There's no way I could do that to him... He doesn't deserve somethin' like that..."

Interesting... Lovino only grew to be more and more interesting, in Antonio's eyes. He stared for a moment, watching as the Italian shook his head and went back to work serving the meal. "As much as I hate the damn bastard, I suppose he has done some good for my brother. If there's one thing anyone should know about my brother, it's that he's a complete and total idiot. Doesn't know his right from his left, a horse from a cow. At least that bastard keeps him in line and keeps him out of trouble."

He was throwing his all into this conversation, it seemed. At least, by Antonio's standards. It was almost painfully obvious that he was trying to distract himself, with how he rambled on and on, his accent heavier than it normally would be. There were even times that the Spaniard couldn't even understand what was being said without tossing the words over and over in his head for a moment. His shoulders were tensed, his nostrils flared, and his eyes looking everywhere but at Antonio. Still, Antonio made no comment. If Lovino wanted to throw himself into this, then so be it. He would let him, if it helped.

"At least my brother can be happy."

Wow. Woah, woah, woah, back up a minute. Be happy? He looked to Lovino, surprised confusion taking hold. "And you're not?" The question left his lips before the thought even ran through his mind.

Lovino let out a strained laugh, and with the way his eyes flicked to the side, he had not expected it, either. He ran a hand through his hair, and it was then that Antonio realized it was trembling. Parsley was added to decorate the top of each of the dishes. "It's funny you think I am," he retorted. "Think a guy with a mouth like this is the happiest damn guy in the world? Guess again."

A plate was handed to Antonio and the Spaniard followed the Italian to the dining room. The storm raged on outside, the wind picking up in velocity. It rattled the windows for a moment before dying down, leaving only the distance rumbling thunder and the pounding of driving rain. Antonio was unsure of how to respond, truthfully. And so, he remained silent, following Lovino's silent instructions to sit opposite from him at the small, round table. He mumbled a quiet word of thanks before allowing Lovino the first bite; a sort of habit of his, to allow his friends to eat before he.

Was Lovino even a friend? He decided to dismiss the thought once again as he twirled the pasta onto his fork. "You should be happy." As soon as the words left his lips, he quickly glanced down to the plate, blowing to cool the sauce and noodles.

" _Excuse me?_ " The tone was almost dangerous, laced with astonished anger. "Just because I own a damn ocean-side property doesn't mean I-"

"Not what I meant," Antonio interjected, his eyes flicking upward. No, that wasn't what he meant in the least. His eyes met with Lovino's, and instantly, the Italian quieted. His own gaze softened and he looked back to his plate. "What I meant is that you deserve to be happy," he corrected himself, as evenly as he possibly could.

Silence. Lovino did not even move, as Antonio cooled off his forkful of pasta. Then finally, "The storm hasn't let up."

Antonio's gaze flicked to the outside world, beyond the sliding glass door. He could just barely make out the table and chairs through the rain washing down the glass. "No. No, it hasn't..." Once again, there was a moment of silence. Antonio finally brought the food to his lips, and carefully took it. Instantly, he froze. _Woah_. A smile tugged at his lips, brightening by the second. "Wow, this is amazing!" He took another bite, letting his mouth savour the deliciousness before taking another bite. "Seriously, this is- Wow, this is just fantastic!"

He could feel Lovino's eyes on him, feel the bewildered gaze. But he elected to ignore it, shoveling more food with his mouth. "I'm serious! This is like... five star chef quality! Wow!" At that, he could hear Lovino nearly choke on his food. He glanced up, and instantly he was met with reddening cheeks.

Lovino sat stiff, eyes glancing nervously out the window before looking to his plate. "Yeah... Uhm... Sure..."

Antonio grinned after swallowed his most recent bite. "What? Don't know how to say 'thank you'?"

Lovino snorted. "I know damn well how to say 'thank you'. I'm just not gonna say it to a bastard like you," he retorted, his cheeks growing in colour. At least it was better than the paleness Antonio had seen earlier...

The Spaniard could only grin all the more. "Hey, so long as you know your food is amazing, I don't care." He took another bite, savouring the rich flavours. It was a tad spicy, but... Quite frankly, he liked it. No. He loved it. He nearly bounced in his seat as he took a meatball and popped it into his mouth. "You haven't ever tried to be a chef before, have you? Because wow-!"

Antonio watched as Lovino slowly shook his head. "No... This was my grandfather's recipe. He taught me everything I know," he spoke slowly.

And from where he was sitting, Antonio could see a flash of pain within the other's eyes. He slowed in his chewing, carefully swallowing the delicious bite. He knew that look... He lowered his fork. "He... passed away... didn't he?" he spoke quietly. Lovino stiffened, his eyes widening slightly. Instantly, Antonio began speaking, "Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to... I mean, I..." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Lo siento... I just... I, ah, I know someone who lost their grandfather. The guy was basically raised by him. My best friend, he lost his grandfather a few years ago... So..."

Lovino swallowed, eyes flicking to Antonio momentarily before focusing on his food. "No... No, it's... alright," he spoke quietly. Slowly, he nodded. "Nonno Romolo died when I was eighteen. I was... I was in Sicilia at the time. My brothers and he were living Firenze. Florence." He prodded at his food, pushing at it but showing no intention of eating. He swallowed thickly, working his tongue in his mouth. "He died... thinking I hated him. I didn't know until a week later, when my brother found me in Palermo. He had apparently been in the hospital for a whole month before he... You know."

Antonio was silent for a moment. To hear something like that... It was... He didn't know how to describe it. He wanted to just stand up, walk right over, and pull the other into his arms, right then and there. But he stayed right where he was. He hated the tears that formed in the other's eyes, the way his brow creased... The way his nostrils flared in a heavy sigh... "Lovino..." He could hardly hear his own voice, it was so soft. And though the Italian didn't move, he knew that he, too, had heard it. He offered a small smile. "He probably knows you love him. You know."

Those green eyes flicked up to him, but they were filled with doubt. And oh, how he wanted to wipe it away... "I know I don't know much, but... Think back on all the times you have fought with your brother. The one you always mention." He paused for only a brief moment. He leaned forward, his smile brightening. "He's said 'I hate you', right? You've said it, too, I'm sure." Slowly, Lovino nodded. "Was it true? Did you hate each other? Did you actually believe it, at the end of the day?"

Lovino stared on. His lips did not tremble even the slightest. Thus, Antonio continued, "Yes, maybe you worried about it, but did you truly _believe_ it? You speak fondly of them both. I'm sure that they could see that you loved them, too." He looked down to his pasta, twirling more of the noodles onto his fork. "So I believe," he continued, "he knew you loved him. And even if he didn't, he's in Heaven right now, looking down on you. He knows you love him. Right now, he's probably smiling like an idiot, saying to everyone nearby... 'Look! That there? That one there! No, not that weirdo. The guy sitting across from him! That's my grandson! Look at him! I love my grandson, and I am so proud of him, because he loves me.'"

A brief pause, then his gaze flicked up momentarily. "No doubt, he's wishing for you not to be sad. The ones you love don't want you to be sad, Lovi. You want your brother to smile, right? I'm sure that's what your grandpa wants, too." And now that his speech had finished, he took the food into his mouth. He smiled brightly in delight, taking yet another forkful. And when he glanced up, he could see that Lovino, too, had continued eating - and those green eyes were still on him. Only this time, he could see a spark within those beautiful irises.

"You're a weirdo alright..." was Lovino's only response.

Antonio chuckled and gave a bright grin. "Wouldn't want it any other way."

The dinner continued on like this, with the storm raging on outside. Antonio made sure to keep up the conversation, speaking of various topics that came to mind. Of course, one of the things he did bring up was about the little game they had the night before, of which Lovino snorted and accused Antonio of ruining his shower. Thus, he had been right; the other had taken a shower before going down to the beach. Though he did apologize for it, he didn't truthfully mean it. It was all too much fun, to be entirely honest. But as he spoke, he slowly began to connect the reason as to why Lovino would flinch throughout the conversation, why his gaze would flick away. Why he seemed so exhausted.

By the end of the meal, Lovino's eyes were far from as puffy and red as they had been earlier that evening. It brought great relief to Antonio, but the general exhaustion from the Italian was certainly cause for worry. He aided Lovino in cleaning the dishes that had been used that night by forcing Lovino to sit at the bar table while he did the dishes himself - including washing and drying them. He spoke cheerfully of events that had happened in the past between he and his brother, including an incident where he had gotten himself stuck in a tree with his rump out for all to see. And his brother's instant reaction to that, of course, was to show everyone of his 'stupid little brother' getting stuck in the tree 'like an idiot'.

He huffed at the comment of agreement that came from the Italian, sending a pout his way at the accusation of 'still being an idiot'. At least he was in high spirits, though he seemed so much more drained now that the evening wore on. Upon completing the dishes, Antonio dried his hands and fished his phone out of his pocket. A quick press of the button and his eyes glanced over the time. 10:54. Wow. Had it really been that long? Then again, he supposed that he had only arrived around six or seven, and they had spent plenty of time simply just talking to each other. Or rather. Antonio spent most of his time telling stories and trying his best to keep the Italian's mind off of his troubles.

He sighed and pocketed his phone once again, giving a glance out the window. He could still hear the storm... The thunder, too, had not died down since earlier this evening, the flashes of lightning illuminating the house every so often. "Do you have any idea to get the guitar home in this? I could always come back for it-"

"Why don't you stay the night?" the Italian's voice injected, seemingly louder than he had intended.

Antonio quickly glanced to the other, astonished at the suggestion. Lovino wasn't looking to him. Instead, his arms were folded on the countertop of the bar table, his cheek pressed against them. But at this angle, Antonio could see a slight tinge of pink dusting his cheeks. "¿Perdón?"

Lovino's cheeks darkened and he seemed to draw in on himself. "... I have a spare bedroom... My brother visits often. So."

Why did it seem so much like a plea, rather than a suggestion...? The other's demeanor, it made him seem all too small. As if he was silently begging for him not to leave. Antonio stared on for a moment, only getting the idea that he should answer when green eyes suddenly flicked to him, nervous and unsure. "Uh. Yeah. Yeah, sure. I could... I could do that."

That gaze almost seemed to soften before the Italian forced it away once more. "Your friends won't mind?"

Antonio thought back to the conversation he had with Francis earlier. Then, he smiled. "No. They wouldn't. They have things they can do."

"... Alright..." At first, he didn't move. But as if it were the cue to move, Lovino slid out of his seat soon after a particularly loud clap of thunder.

Antonio couldn't help but to wonder why Lovino refused to meet his eyes as he bustled around the room, flicking off lights. The darkness closed in around them, save for the light coming from the hallway. As soon as Lovino motioned to follow, Antonio did so, letting the Italian guide him. More lights flicked off and a mumbled warning of 'be careful' was sent his way as they ascended up the stairs.

He didn't need to be warned. A flash of lightning illuminated the hall, lighting the path for them momentarily. Antonio followed Lovino up, the thunder rolling in soon after. His hand slid across the banister as he made his way up, following the padding sounds of footsteps toward the hall. A door opened and light flicked on, flooding the hallway with a dim light. Antonio automatically assumed it to be a sort of night light within the bathroom. That was usually where they were, yes?

Lovino stood in the light, motioning toward the stairs. "That one's my room," he spoke. He then motioned to the door located not too far away from where he stood. "That one's the guest room. Pillows and a blanket are already in there. Bed's already made." He strode past Antonio, keeping his eyes away from him. "Oh and. Don't bother me until there's at least light outside. I'm more likely to castrate you without my coffee."

Well. That certainly would have seemed like a threat if his voice weren't so dull and... lifeless... Antonio quickly turned around and grabbed at Lovino's wrist, stopping him in his tracks. "Hey... Are you alright...?" He could feel the Italian tense under his touch, before the arm was pulled away from his grasp.

"I'm tired. Storms are tiring as fuck." He stepped on toward the door, pushing it open. "Buona notte."

Antonio stared after, his lips forming a thin line. "Buenas noches," he answered just before the door could close. He breathed out a sigh. Nothing he could do, he supposed. If a man was tired, a man was tired. Hesitantly, he continued on toward the room designated for him, pushing open the door. Another flash of lightning lit it before he could even think about flipping on a light. Well. He found the bed.

Exhaustion hit him like a freight train and Antonio heaved out a sigh. He ran a hand through tousled chocolate locks, shaking his head for a moment before closing the door behind him. The events of today replayed through his mind as he padded on toward the bed and collapsed into it. Today... certainly was exhausting...

He pushed himself up until his head hit the pillow, tossed his phone to the nightstand beside him, and slid under the covers. His mind whirred with thoughts, and yet, he could not settle on even a single one. Thus, he could only chalk it up to thinking about nothing and everything at the same time. Somehow, through the mess of emotions and thoughts running through his mind, he found himself quickly falling succumb to sleep, the rain tapping away against the window being the last thing that reached his ears.

His slumber did not last long, it seemed. His eyes shot open at the deafening bang, jumping straight up in bed. He could feel the vibrations run through his entire body, hear the pictures on the walls rattling. He gasped at the sound, eyes wildly searching the darkness. The driving rain was what lead him to realize what it was; the storm raged on outside, and had awoken him. He flicked on the phone beside him. 03:00, it read. He groaned and let his head hit the pillow. This would be a long, long night...

The wind blew violently, rattling the windows and driving the rain even harder against the house. He could almost hear the angry call of the sea, though he knew full well that could very well just be the pounding rain. Lightning split the sky and illuminated the entire room before fading into nothing. Only a few milliseconds later and the house shook with the thunder that boomed in his ears.

And an ear-splitting scream.

His eyes shot open at this. No, that wasn't right. That was not the kind of sound a storm made. He sat up in bed, confusion overtaking his mind. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, his blood running cold. Light blinded him, and once again, the house shook with the anger of the storm. It was followed by yet another shriek.

He wasted no time.

Bare feet pounded against the wooden floors as he rushed to the door and threw it open. He could hear the quiet sobs, muffled. His first instinct was to check the room staring him straight in the face. The door stood ajar. The rumble of thunder echoed from the distance and he stumbled forward, pushing the door open the rest of the way to peer inside. "Lovino-?" A blinding flash of light revealed the room to be void of life.

A scream echoed from down the stairs when the thunder came crashing in. He spun toward the flight of stairs and quickly made his way down, stumbling on the last few steps and nearly spilling himself across the floor. He managed to catch himself on the banister at the last given moment. "Lovino?!" he shouted in desperation.

No answer.

His heart beat wildly in his chest as he pushed himself up. His eyes darted left and right, but there was no sign of the Italian in the darkened house. "Lovino!" His shout was followed by a flash of light and the almost-simultaneous clap of thunder.

Another scream told him exactly where he needed to go. The sobbing and whimpering cut off the moment he rushed into the living room, green eyes wildly searching the darkness in an attempt to find the source. Nothing. He decided to solely follow the sounds of muffled whimpering, pushing forward and following them to the couch. He ducked down beside it and peered around the corner to find that pressed into the back corner, pressed entirely against the wall, was a shivering form.

His first instinct was to cry out. But he dared not to. No, that would only frighten the man. He swallowed and carefully edged into the small space. "H-hey..." he spoke quietly, reaching out for the trembling form. "Lovi-"

He was met with Italian profanities and shrill screaming. Hands flailed wildly toward him and through the darkness, he could see green eyes wild with panic.

Instantly, he backed off, retracting his hand. "Hey, hey, it's okay! It's okay..." he spoke gently, backing his way out of the small tunnel-like hole. "See? It's alright..." He backed up even more, leaving room between him and the couch. "I'm not going to hurt you. See? I'm not here to hurt you..." He spoke gently, his voice soft and kind.

Oh, but how his heart beat wildly in his chest... His thoughts raced through his mind, questions without answers plaguing him relentlessly. He placed himself down on his rear, unfolding his legs before him. "C'mon. It's okay... Lovino, it's me. Antonio." No. That wasn't what he called him. He cracked a smile. "The tomato bastard. Remember? The guy who got tomato all over your shirt."

The whimpering had died down, at least, and he could hear a scoff. The thunder rolled in the distance, gentle and unthreatening. Yet, it was still enough to make the Italian flinch. Antonio waited patiently, before holding out his hand. "It's safe. It's okay. Come on out. I won't let anything hurt you. You're alright. It's just a storm." A flash of lightning. The rain continued to pound against the window. "See? A storm. It's alright." The thunder accompanied it.

Slowly, but surely, he could see the shadow move. He waited patiently, unmoving. "It's okay, Lovi... I'm here... It's alright..." he spoke softly. He kept his hand held out, that same, gentle smile on his face.

Finally, Lovino emerged from behind the couch. His glare could be seen through the darkness, through eyes glistening with tears. He glanced to the hand, but did not take it. "The hell are you doin' here? Damn bastard..."

After a moment, Antonio lowered his hand. "I heard you scream," he admitted. Those eyes flicked away from him. "I got worried, and found you down here."

"You don't need to speak to me like a damn child..."

Antonio gave a sheepish smile. "Well... You didn't seem to recognize me at first." Now he felt stupid... It seemed that Lovino was, indeed, in his right mind. But, how was he supposed to know how to handle the situation?

Lovino stiffened. For a moment, he was silent. His eyes flicked to the window as thunder rolled in the distance. "I thought you were... someone else... at first..." he finally admitted, his voice quiet. It was so quiet, the rain nearly drowned it out. He then swallowed and breathed deeply. "But of course I know you fuckin' are. Your ugly mug... It's... It's..." A loud clap of thunder instantly cut him off. He jolted visibly, arms wrapping around himself. "CAZZO."

Antonio shot forward, moving to his knees. "You okay-?" It was an instant reaction.

"No, I'm not fuckin' okay! Do I _look_ okay?!" Lovino shot back, glaring harshly at the one before him. He growled in frustration. "Why the fuck do you think I didn't come out, huh?! It wasn't because I didn't recognize you, you damn bastard! It's because I'm fuckin' ashamed as fuckin' hell! Here I am, fucking twenty-two fuckin' years old, afraid of a fuckin' _thunder storm_! How's that for fuckin' embarrasing, ah?! Don't you dare fuckin' ask me 'are you fuckin' okay! Because here's a fuckin' newsflash! _No! I'm not fuckin' okay!_ "

Instantly, Antonio had silenced. He had not expected something like that... He sat back again, unsure of what to even say. A mumble reached his ears as soon as Lovino glanced away, but alas, he could not hear it over the rain. "... What...?" he asked timidly.

"I said I'm fuckin' sorry! Learn to fuckin'-"

Another loud crack of thunder, and an onslaught of Italian profanities. Lovino's hand flew up to his mouth and he whimpered, tears cascading down his cheeks.

Antonio moved forward. Lovino flinched at his touch at first, but Antonio noted that he did not move away when he put his arms around him. Cautiously, he wrapped his arms around the other and pulled him to his chest, taking no note of the bare skin against his arms. He sat back and tightened his grip, hearing the whimpers come from the one who seemed so damn small in his arms. "It's okay to be afraid..." he murmured quietly. He breathed in deeply and rested his head against the Italian's. "I'm here... I'm not going anywhere..."

A mumbled curse reached his ears, but it was erased just as quickly as the clap of thunder that followed it. The Spaniard could feel the Italian press more against him, and he only tightened his grip. Arms soon wrapped around his waist, timid at first, but holding to him firmly after a brief moment. He lifted a hand and ran it through the disheveled locks, rocking back and forth in a soothing motion.

He hated the way the Italian trembled in his arms. He hated how tense his muscles felt, yet how tired his entire body seemed to be. He hated the whimpers and the tears that soaked his loaned shirt. He wanted to make it all... fade away... Yet, he knew not how. He wanted to help, in some way, yet he could not think of how.

Then a thought occurred to him.

Mothers would often sing lullabies to their children to lull them to sleep. Perhaps it would have the same effect...? He could only try.

_"Yo te quiero regalar palabras,_  
_ser tu red para cuando caigas,_  
_cogerte de la mano al andar..._

_"Y decirte cosas al oído,_  
_Yo quiero ser tu manta cuando tengas frío_  
_y ser tu hombro para llorar..."_

It was the first thing he could think of; the only thing he could think of. It was a Spanish song he had heard on the radio a few times while in Spain. It was a beautiful melody, and he found that he loved the lyrics dearly. It was all about wanting to be there for someone, and holding them through everything. The chorus, itself, was about wanting to make the listener smile, even if it meant selling their own soul to achieve that.

_"Por ti mi vida empeño,_  
_por un momento_  
_de verte sonreír..._

_"Por ti mi alma vendo,_  
_a cambio del tiempo_  
_que necesites para ser feliz..."_

He could feel the Italian relaxing in his arms. He was no longer trembling as he had been. The storm raged on outside, the rain pounding against the window and the lightning filling the room. He could hear the distant rumbles of thunder, and the loud claps that startled even he. But he forced himself to stay strong. He had to keep his voice steady. As he sang, he ran his fingers through Lovino's hair and rubbed at his back. Whenever the other would flinch or hold him tighter, Antonio would give him a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

_"Dejo todo por un beso tuyo,_  
_quiero ser tu espada y tu escudo,_  
_decirte que te quiero una vez más..._

_"Quiero ser tus alas y tu cielo,_  
_quiero ser el mar y tu velero,_  
_el suelo y tus pies para caminar..."_

The whimpering had stopped entirely, yet he could still tell that the tears were still leaking from his eyes. He continued his song, until it finally came to an end and only the rain was left to accompany them. He swallowed thickly, and dared not to pull away. He massaged the younger's scalp and leaned down to press his lips against it, though it was not in a kiss; it was simply to rest his head there. He held the other closer to him, rewarded by the feeling of Lovino scooting into it, pressing more against him. He was sure there wasn't even anymore room left between them, at this rate, but he didn't care.

He did not want to let go. No, that would be the end of the world, for the both of them. Antonio needed this just as much as Lovino did. He did not want to ask the other as to why his fear of storms was so strong. That could wait until later. For now, all he wanted to do was hold Lovino to him and let him know that everything was alright. That the storm was nothing to worry about, nothing to be frightened over. And so, Antonio just sat there, with the Italian in his arms.

He did not know how long they were there for, how long they just sat there with their arms around each other. He only knew that the storm continued, the thunder easing up, yet still very much reminding them that it was there to stay until morning would come around. Antonio had no doubt that it would stay that long. And if he had to sit there and hold Lovino throughout the entire thing, in the same position, then he would.

It was Lovino who broke the hug, his grip finally loosening and his body finally pulling away. "... I'm going to bed..." he finally announced, his voice quiet.

Antonio nodded in agreement and pulled away from Lovino, pushing himself up. As he straightened, he helped Lovino to his feet and steadied him. "You sure you'll be okay...?" Silence. Antonio breathed in, then cautiously, "Would you like me to... to... sleep in the same bed as you...?"

"... Do what you want..."

Was that a yes? Or was it a no? He couldn't even be sure. Without thinking much of it, Antonio squeezed Lovino's shoulder and leaned forward. Gently, he placed a kiss upon his forehead. "C'mon. Let's get you into bed, Lovi." There were no protests as he laced his fingers with the Italian's, carefully leading him away from the couch and through the living room. He was slow as he ascended the steps, taking care not to leave Lovino behind, and pushed on through the door. He guided the Italian to the bed and let him lay upon it - though it was much more like falling upon it with a dull _thud_.

Then he began to second guess his suggestion. Surely Lovino would not like that. He took a step back, running his fingers through Lovino's hair once more. "I'll be in the other room." He turned, and walked away. He could only get so far before a hand grabbed at his sweatpants, stopping him. There was no need for words; that action alone was the only thing he needed.

Heart pounding in his chest, he crawled into the bed beside the Italian, who then proceeded to mumble, "Your shirt's wet." He was about to question why that was even important, but then it dawned on him before he could even part his lips. It was no doubt uncomfortable, and thus he was obligated to remove it. ... Well... If Lovino was fine with it (and seemed to sleep without a shirt anyway, judging by the bare chest), then he would be alright with it. He breathed out a sigh and peeled off the shirt, letting it fall to the floor.

He lay beside the other, and through the darkness, he watched as the Italian first turned so that he faced away from him. He stared for a moment and, figuring that he should probably do the same, prepared to move as well. That is, until a clap of thunder made Lovino think otherwise of his decision. Or so Antonio assumed.

Lovino turned around and scooted closer, pressing his forehead against the Spaniard's chest. An arm tentatively wound itself around Antonio's waist, in what Antonio could only assume was for lack of a better place to put it. Antonio swallowed thickly and hesitantly returned the embrace, his hand resting at the back of Lovino's head to play with a few of the strands. "I'll be here..." he reassured.

A gentle nod against his chest. He smiled at this, ever so softly, and leaned down to rest his head against Lovino's. Lovino moved closer only once, then was still. The crying had stopped. The trembling had ceased. Antonio could feel Lovino's exhaustion through his posture alone, and could feel exhaustion creeping up on him as well. He forced himself to remain awake until he felt Lovino's chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm that indicated sleep. Then finally, Antonio, too, let his eyes fall closed. This time, he would sleep until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I want to give you words,  
> Be your net when you fall,  
> Hold your hand while walking...
> 
> "And tell you things in your ear,  
> Be your blanket when you're cold,  
> And be your shoulder to cry on...
> 
> "For you, I commit my life,  
> To see you smile  
> For one moment...
> 
> "For you I'd sell my soul  
> In exchange for all the time  
> That you need to be happy..
> 
> "I'd give everything for a kiss from you,  
> I want to be your sword and your shield,  
> Tell you "I love you" one more time...
> 
> "I want to be your wings and your sky,  
> I want to be your sea and your sailboat,  
> The ground and your feet when you walk..."


	5. Day Five: When You Love So Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, this chapter took so long for me to write- I tried to get it done by the end of the weekend, but look at where that's got me. I'm almost an entire week late! Well, no matter. I got it done! Hope you guys enjoy! Oh. But before you read... I suggest you look up "Mambo Italiano" by Carla Boni, and "Una Notte A Napoli" by Pink Martini. Both of those songs - especially Una Notte a Napoli - play an important part in this chapter. Don't worry about when you have to listen to them; you'll find out when you get there. Alright, with that said, I think it's time for bed-

When he had awoken, he had expected to be alone. It was only a natural thought. After all, how could something like last night possibly happen? He knew full well of how strong of a man the Italian was. Sure, he hardly laughed, but he didn't cry, either. And not to mention that this was the first time he had ever been over to Lovino's house... Thus, when the sun's morning rays filtered in through the window, rousing him from his slumber, he thought for sure that he would open his eyes to find himself alone in the bed that his host had assigned to him. For a moment, he thought that surely, this was the truth.

He was proven entirely wrong.

Through the grogginess of his tired mind, he could feel a weight against his chest. His breath caught in his throat at the shallow, steady breeze dancing across his skin. He was suddenly painfully aware of the warmth that radiated from beside him. It was hard to ignore the skin beneath his fingertips, soft and so very warm. The unfamiliar sensation of hair brushing against his jawline and shoulder as the other shifted tickled his skin, and he had to suppress the shiver that threatened to rock down his spine. Thankfully, the movement was brief, and thus there was no time for a snicker to even begin bubbling up.

He held his breath, his body tense. The other wouldn't suddenly wake up, would he? He sure hoped not. He did not know what was in store for him. Would he yell? Would he curse? Would he accuse him of perverse things? Would he really castrate him? Or perhaps, he wondered, would it be the exact opposite? He pondered the possibilities. There was a chance that Lovino wouldn't be angry. After all, with the events of last night - something of which he decided had in fact happened - he doubted that Lovino would be truly angry with him for sleeping in the same bed. It was Lovino, after all, who had coaxed him to stay.

Then would that mean that he would be grateful that Antonio had remained by his side the entire night, until the sun finally peeked out from beyond the horizon? The more Antonio thought on it, the more likely the possibility became. He knew well of how difficult of an individual Lovino was. The man was still a complete mystery to him, yet it was all too easy to understand that his mind worked to such depths that Antonio could not possibly grasp the entirety of his thought process. The emotion in his eyes alone told of countless tales of what lie beyond the mask he wore. A defense mechanism, Antonio could only guess. Though it did raise the question of why it was there in the first place - if that was the answer at all. No. No, he should not think about such things. It was not his place to try to pick apart the Italian's past. A man had his secrets, and some things were best left unspoken.

Deducing that Lovino had not awoken, judging by the steady rise and fall of his chest, Antonio finally cracked open an eyelid. The harsh sunlight gave no mercy and his head almost pounded in protest. He wanted to hiss and throw an arm over his eyes, but at the same time, he feared moving. He lay on his back, one arm wrapped around Lovino's shoulders and his other hand gently resting upon- was that a forearm? No. Judging by the contours of the skin, he deduced that it was not, in fact, a forearm. Rather, it was a wrist.

He blinked away the rest of the sleep from his eyes, suppressing a yawn. His gaze instantly fell upon the white ceiling above him. To his right, in his peripheral, he could just barely make out the shape of a nightstand and a simple lamp. A quick glance to the side, curiosity getting the best of him, rewarded him with the knowledge of a book and a cell phone. The book itself looked to be opened many times before, the edges of the hard cover slightly damaged and frayed. That only confirmed the suspicion that had risen in his mind the day before; Lovino was one to often throw himself into the realm of fantasy - by choice and not by necessity.

He couldn't help but to crack a weak smile at this confirmed aspect of Lovino's life. Antonio, too, had a passion for reading. Though, he had to admit... He didn't read as much as he would like. He was much too busy, preoccupying himself with other interests and hobbies and, admittedly, the busyness of life itself. He breathed out a quiet sigh at this thought as he tore his eyes away from the book. Instantly, he shoved the thought away. Now was not the time to think on something like that. Wait. Wait a damn moment. He glanced once again to the book, brow furrowing.

He almost laughed. He had to bite his tongue in order not to do so. If he craned his neck, lifted his head just the slightest, he could just barely see the printed cover. Though he could not read the title from where he lay, he could most definitely see the woman caught in her lover's embrace. Really. That was the last thing he expected. He glanced down to the Italian resting on his shoulder, and instantly, the thoughts scattered away from him.

It was breathtaking. Before that moment, he had not once seen the Italian with an expression of such peace and tranquility. He had grown accustomed to the furrowed brow, the soft glare, the downward turn of the lips. And even if the other hadn't been frowning, if he had been smirking, Antonio could still spy the traces of a troubled expression. But to see him so relaxed, so content... It was enough to make him believe he was still in a dream. He almost wanted to will himself to wake up. But, at the same time, he wished that he wouldn't.

It wasn't just the expression. It was the way the light through the window - that same damned light that had woken him - shone upon his skin. He could see the red highlights of the Italian's auburn hair - including that stubborn curl that seemed to just not want to lay flat, no matter what. It was almost as if the man's hair was in eternal flame, like the glowing embers Antonio had seen within his eyes. Yet, it was a gentle glow. He did not know how to properly describe it. Hell, even his mind had been stunned into complete silence, it seemed. The relaxed brow, the closed eyelids, the slightly parted lips, the nostrils just barely flaring with each intake of breath... He couldn't help but to take it all in without a second thought.

Lovino was truly beautiful.

His face flushed at the thought. Out of all the words that could have possibly come to mind, it just had to be those set of words to break through? He let his head fall back to the pillow, breathing out yet another sigh through his nose. His eyes slowly closed, his eyebrows drawing together as the corners of his lips turned down in a frown. Francis was right. He was getting much too close... He could not shake the sinking feeling in his chest, nor the flicker of pain in his heart at the realization. He needed to put an end to this. He needed to just... grab his guitar and head back to the hotel. Drop all contact with the Italian.

But he couldn't do that... The voice argued this, in the back of his mind. He was to leave soon. Never to see Lovino again. He swallowed thickly as this thought entered his mind. The days had passed by in a blur, yet that was one thought that kept revealing itself, over and over again, until he was sure that it would drive him crazy. He could not stay in Italy. Before the week would be over, he would already be on a plane, have already landed in Germany. The sudden thought struck him. He would be leaving the day after the next. He could not help the lump that formed in his throat. Try as he might, he could not ignore the tightening in his chest, the crushing of his lungs. He could almost feel the tears pricking at his eyes...

Oh, how he hated mornings... The silence always gave way for such depressing thoughts. It was the reason he would always force himself out of bed as soon as his eyes were open. Others would call him a morning person, say that he was much too cheerful when morning came around. "You rise with the sun," they would say to him. But he knew the truth of it. With the stillness of the morning came the heaviness of the heart and mind. It never failed him. If he did not distract himself with a busy schedule in the morning, then he would only succumb to thoughts, to doubts, to fears. His busyness was not from cheerful giddiness; it came from the need to pull his mind away from troublesome thoughts. Sure, he did have good mornings where he woke up feeling giddy and energized. But he was only human.

Thankfully, he did not have to think on this for long. His distraction had come. His eyes opened as he felt the other shift against him, heard the short groan come from his throat. He could feel the vibrations against his chest, feel the way Lovino pressed against him as he moved closer to the warmth, despite the warm room around them. The fist lying on his chest tightened, then relaxed, and when Antonio lifted his head, he could see eyelids slowly pulling back to reveal green irises. They blinked once, then twice, as brows furrowed in groggy confusion.

The Spaniard grinned down to the one he held. "Buonas días, Lovino," he greeted. His voice crackled with the lack of usage over the course of the night.

It seemed to take the Italian a moment to even gain his bearings. Antonio could only watch in amused silence as those green eyes flicked to him. He watched as the mental gears slowly started turning, the groggy confusion reflecting in the other's eyes. And when they widened, lips slightly parting, Antonio knew Lovino had figured it out. With a groan, the Italian threw himself to the side and rolled over, stopping only when his back had been turned to his guest. "Get the fuck outta my bed," was the groggy grumble that reached his ears.

Antonio couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from him. He should have expected something like that. Aah, but that warning from the night before... Yes, the Italian certainly did seem less tolerant now. Deciding to listen to his host's will, he pulled himself out of the sheets - though not without a mental complaint on the lack of warmth - and gave a stretch as soon as he was safely on two feet again. His gaze flicked to Lovino, who lay curled up, only half covered by the sheets. "May I use your shower?" he asked, his voice gentle as to not disturb the other too much.

"Do whatever the fuck you want, I don't give two shits. Just don't fuckin' say another goddamn word to me, or so help me, I'll..." The rest of the threat died down to incoherent mumblings into the pillow as Lovino curled even more into himself.

Deeming it as a good idea to leave his host be at this point, Antonio flashed a grin and said not another word. After gathering up the shirt he had deposited the night before (and with good reason, giving the heat of the room with two heat-radiating bodies under the same blanket), he slipped out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Then a thought occurred to him; he hadn't brought an extra pair of clothes. He breathed out a sigh through his nose, his eyes flicking toward the stairs. He did have a pair of the clothes in the drier... Though they were in fact dirtied, he doubted they would be any dirtier than the sweat pants he currently wore. Aah, so were the summer nights of Naples... Warm, and with the ocean right outside the window, quite humid.

Running a hand through his hair and his lips parting in a mighty yawn, the Spaniard threw the shirt over his shoulder and made his way down the stairs. While he hadn't been in that section of the house, it wasn't hard to locate the laundry room. And, apparently, another bathroom. Huh. He dismissed this discovery and stepped over the overflowing laundry basket of clean clothes to retrieve his own clothes from the machine, thankful that they had indeed been dried. His shoes, however, he could not say the same for. They hadn't been added into the load of clothes, no doubt having to wait for the rack to be set up. And with clothes spiraling around inside... Yeah, it was not a good idea.

Perhaps he should start the drier himself and put the shoes in there before Lovino woke up? He pondered this option for a moment before he decided that no, that would not be the best idea. He did not want to rummage around the laundry room, trying to find what he was looking for. It was not his house, and he would not invade someone's privacy. Retrieving clothes was one thing. Searching an entire laundry room and starting up the drier? Now that was another.

Antonio dismissed those thoughts as he ventured out of the room, down the hall, back up the stairs, and into the bathroom. (He was unsure if the downstairs bathroom was even alright for showering in. He knew that sometimes, people would use only one of the bathrooms for bathing, while the other remained entirely unused. He could only assume that he was allowed to use the upstairs one because it was the one Lovino had kindly pointed out to him the night before.) With one last glance toward Lovino's door to assure that the Italian was still locked within, he closed the door to the bathroom. Thankfully, it wasn't difficult to locate the towels; they were simply stored in a cabinet next to the tub itself.

He tried his hardest not to take too long. After all, he didn't want to rack up Lovino's water bill. No doubt that living on the coastline like this was expensive, and he didn't want to worsen it by using any more water than Lovino would. Though he had to admit... He had no idea just how much water Lovino would use in a normal situation. Well, either way, he did not want to be the cause for Lovino going into debt. Thus, he kept his shower short, merely sticking to the basics of shampoo and soap. Only a few moments later and he was stepping back out, drying himself with a towel and pulling on the clothes he had brought yesterday. They smelled clean, at least... Wait. Was that laundry detergent?

His eyebrows furrowed at the curious observation, lifting the fabric to his nose. It was indeed laundry detergent. It then occurred to him. Lovino did not just dry his clothes. He full on _washed_ them. He hummed, impressed. He knew Lovino was a kind soul, but to this extent? He decided would have to find a way to thank him later for his hospitality.

He looked to the towel. ... What was he supposed to do with this. His eyebrows furrowed. Oh, the woes of showering at another person's house... You never knew where to put the towel. Some people just hung them up to be used again. Some had a special hamper to throw it into. Some would ask to throw it into the washer, or the back room for cleaning. And then there were those who would just take it from you and be off to do whatever it was they did with it, without any explanation. Antonio huffed as he looked to the damp towel, a frown on his lips. Too bad Lovino was currently sleeping, or else he would ask him what to do with it. Would it be alright to pile it into a corner of the bathroom?

No. No, he would not dirty Lovino's house in such a way. It was clear that the man went to great lengths to keep his home clean, judging by the way that there seemed to be not even a single thing out of place. Sure, there was still dust to be found, so it wasn't insanely spotless, like one would find when visiting the Beilschmidt household. But it was still clean, nonetheless, and Antonio would not allow himself to ruin that.

Thus, he decided. He would just throw it into the back room, along with the clothes that had been lent to him. Balling up the dirtied laundry, the Spaniard ventured out of the room, leaving the door open to allow the room to air out from the moisture within. He had to pause on his way toward the stairs, however, due to the ajar door his eyes flicked upon. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Hadn't Lovino been sleeping? A questioning frown, but he was soon to shrug it off and began his descent. Just as he turned the corner into the hallway, he could hear the Italian's voice, speaking in jumbled nonsense from the laundry room.

A slam of a door, a beep, and the sounds of the drier echoed to his ears. Antonio raised an eyebrow at the foreign language rolling off Lovino's tongue. The words seemed so agitated, as opposed to what he had heard when the Italian had been speaking the same language to the waiter a few days back. He could hear the scoffs and grunts, and the annoyed tone ringing through his voice was much too hard to miss. The voice lowered, then all of a sudden grow louder again, and the whole thing was all too much for Antonio to ignore. A part of him told him that it was not his business, that he should just turn right back around and walk away. But then another, much stronger, part argued that it was not the best idea, that he should press on to assure that everything was alright with his host.

And press on he did. He padded along the hallway until he rounded the corner, the Italian's name falling from his lips in a timid, curious whisper. Surprised green eyes flicked to him, the words cutting off instantly. His eyebrows furrowed as he watched pink dust across Lovino's cheeks. The eyes flicked away again and another phrase was mumbled quickly into the receiver of a cell phone. Well. That answered one question.

Lovino - fully dressed in a button up shirt (the sleeves of which rolled to his elbows) and pair of jeans - pulled the device from his ear and shot a weak glare. "What are you doin' down here, ah?"

Antonio said nothing and simply lifted the pile of clothes in his hand. It was quickly snatched away with a grumble, the pile flying into the washing machine soon after. The Spaniard swallowed and his eyes flicked to the drier, then to where his shoes had been just a few moments ago. Missing. Ah, so he had remembered about the shoes... He flashed a smile at this. "Thanks for washing my clothes for me," he finally spoke up.

Lovino shrugged and slid past Antonio, venturing down the hallway. Antonio was quick to fall in time with the quickened pace. "Whatever. They had mud on them. I didn't want to ruin my drier with it."

The older of the two chuckled at the seemingly uninterested response. He flashed a smile to the back of an auburn head. "Well, either way, that was very nice of you." He caught Lovino's eyes for a brief moment. "You just threw my shoes in there, right?"

A nod and the pace slowed as they neared the kitchen. "Sì. They should be dry soon so you can get your ass out of here."

"You sure you want me to leave so soon?" The question left his lips without him thinking on it. The Italian halted abruptly and it took quite a bit of effort on Antonio's part to not slam right into his back. His eyes widened slightly at the baffled glare sent over his shoulder. "I-I mean-! Last night was pretty rough! And I really want to make sure you're okay!" he spoke quickly, finding that he was stumbling over the English pronunciations a little more than usual this morning. He blamed it on his lack of sleep.

For a moment, Lovino was silent. Then finally, a huff through his nostrils. He turned away, continuing on once more. "Last night was just one time. It's done and over with now," he spoke flatly.

Antonio fell into silence. Sure, Lovino seemed a lot better this morning. The circles under his eyes weren't as noticeable, and his eyes weren't as bloodshot as they had been the day before. But, he couldn't shake the feeling that he shouldn't leave so soon. He knew it was rude, to stay longer than intended. And if Lovino showed aggravation at him staying, then he would indeed leave him be. But as it stood right then, his mind was screaming at him to stay by the other's side.

"Speaking of last night..."

The voice cut through his thoughts like a hot knife through butter. His eyes glanced to Lovino to see that he was pouring a dark liquid into two different mugs. Ah. Coffee. He cracked a smile at the sight. That would surely wake up him.

The coffee pot was returned to the stove, where the flame had already been turned off. One of the cups was handed to Antonio, who mumbled out a word of gratitude, before Lovino rested against the counter, breathing in the scent. His eyes looked to everywhere but Antonio. "You deserve an explanation..." he finally spoke.

This piqued Antonio's interest. He paused in the middle of blowing on his coffee, curious green eyes flicking up to look toward the other. He lowered the warm mug, his lips drawing into a thin line. He wanted to know, yes, but at the same time, he wanted it to remain unknown. He could accept that Lovino did not like the storm, for whatever reason. Whatever the reason was, no doubt it was a serious one. No man or woman alive would react in such a manner if it weren't for some sort of traumatic event. Or perhaps, Antonio mused, it was simply the fact that Lovino hated storms. It was possible that it was an irrational fear, spurred by absolutely nothing.

Judging by the look on the other's face, the tense shoulders, this was not the case.

"You don't have to," Antonio spoke carefully, slowly. His voice was quiet. He tried his hardest to let Lovino know that he understood, that he did not require an explanation.

Lovino's eyes finally flicked to Antonio, a frown playing along his lips. After a brief moment, he answered, "No. No, you deserve to know. No one goes through that and doesn't wonder what the fuck happened."

"Lovino-"

The Italian rolled his eyes and lowered the mug. It was such a quick moment, Antonio had feared the liquid would spill out the edge and all over Lovino's hand. "For fuck's sake, just let me tell my goddamn story! Santo cielo!"

That instantly shut him up.

Lovino breathed out a sigh and deflated against the countertop. He rubbed at the mug with an index finger as he stared into the dark liquid, eyebrows drawn together. "Yeah. I know I don't have to say it. But you know what? You had to sit there through all of that. You had to fuckin' deal with that, so it's only right if I explain to you what the hell happened," he spoke.

Antonio watched in silence as he cautiously blew on the steaming liquid in his hands. A part of him wanted to find out what had been bothering the other the day before. Another part was fearful. For a long moment, it seemed that the Italian wouldn't speak again. But after a sharp inhale, Antonio could see the determination in the other's eyes.

"It's nothing. Really..." Lovino spoke cautiously. "I mean. It's..." His eyes flicked out the window for a brief moment. "Yeah. It's big. But in a way, it's not. I don't care if I tell it. What happened, happened. You can't change the past, and I know that. So don't give me that 'you don't have to' shit." His gaze returned to the mug. "You're not the first person I've told the story to, and you most definitely aren't goin' to be the last. So let me just tell my damn story.

"Alright. So... When I was eight, my parents were murdered."

Antonio could feel his heart stop right then and there. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened. He could not believe what he had heard. How could such an angel endure such pain? At such a young age? He could not even begin to fathom what sort of trauma that alone had brought upon Lovino. His outward personality, his rash way of dealing with people, seemed to make all the more sense now to the Spaniard.

In his silence, Lovino continued, "When the men were at our door, Mamma told us to hide. I took both of my brothers and hid in the closet. I remember there were slits in the door, and I didn't want them looking through them. So I held them as tight as I could... They wouldn't stop crying." He paused, eyes flicking up momentarily as eyebrows furrowed. Antonio's eyes locked on the way his throat tensed, the way his lips turned down into a troubled frown. "I wasn't as lucky. I didn't have anyone to hide my eyes, and I couldn't look away.

"I watched as they both were shot. I remember it was in their bedroom. The sun was settin' and a storm was brewin'. When I heard the gunshots, I thought it was just thunder at first. I didn't realize..." He paused. "No, I didn't want to believe it."

Antonio finally found the courage to speak. "So the thunder... from last night..."

Lovino slowly nodded, his eyes locking with Antonio's. "It sounds like gunfire..."

For a moment, he was entirely silent. They both were. The silence hung over the room like a thick curtain, suffocating the both of them. Antonio couldn't even find the strength to breathe, hearing the story that had come from the Italian's lips. His mind reeled with the imagery that the words had given him. Images of Lovino hiding in the closet, holding his brothers close as he tried to keep them quiet, flashed through his mind. He could see the light falling upon the youthful face, see the fear in his eyes. That same fear he had seen the night before... He could see the children flinch at each gunshot that rang out, see Lovino's eyes widen in disbelief as he stared on through the slits.

No doubt, he had realized, they had made a sound. There was no way that a child could keep silent through all that, no matter how well-mannered they were. His eyes flicked to Lovino, curious and yet fearful of the answer. "How... did you survive?"

Oh, how he wished he had taken that question back. How he wished he could snatch it from the air and tear it to shreds, or even stop his lips from speaking it. It broke the silence, and he wished he could have gotten that back.

Lovino seemed confused at first, flashing a bewildered glance. His lips twitched, but no sound came out just yet. As if suddenly understanding, he glanced back to the cup. "To be honest, it was all by pure chance.

"When the last gunshot fired, Feliciano screamed."

Feliciano... That named seemed familiar. But he didn't have time to question it, didn't have time to think on it. The story was continuing, and he was much too caught up in it to even give it a second's thought.

"I was so angry with him, so scared, I started screamin' at him to shut up. When I looked up, they were aimin' at the closet. I thought we'd die, too.

"When I closed my eyes and pushed my brothers back, the bedroom door broke open. I heard the men yellin' and heard gunfire. But I didn't feel anythin'. I thought I was dead, too. But when I opened my eyes, I saw Nonno fightin' them.

"He beat them down - even when the men were shootin' at him." His eyes softened and a certain emotion flickered within them, one of fondness. "He was always a strong man. I should've expected as much. He was a police officer, y'know... Before he... Well. Before he decided it was his time to go, too." He finally took a pause to sip at his coffee, deeming it as cool enough. Antonio follow suit. Letting out a sigh of content at the taste, Lovino continued, "He found us in the closet. From that day on, the three of us lived with him. He raised us."

Lovino's eyes flicked back to Antonio. Though his entire body seemed to relaxed, there was a flicker of doubt within his eyes. Or at least, that was what Antonio could see. "So now you know. I don't like storms. I don't like thunder," he finally concluded. "As I said, you aren't the first person, and you won't be the last." He lifted the cup to his lips and took another sip, his eyes darting away.

But Antonio wasn't fully convinced. The Italian had gone into such vivid detail about it... He had expected a short explanation. With the story he was told, he would have expected a simple 'I don't like thunder because it reminds me of my parents getting shot' or something of that nature. But instead, he was given an entire recount of the event. And it truly was disturbing.

Yet Antonio couldn't help but to be curious. Why go into such detail? He could assume that others had asked him about it before, so perhaps they had pestered him about the details? Surely it couldn't have been because the Italian trusted him that much with it; life just didn't work that way. If anything, Antonio was a stranger to Lovino. So why...? He pondered this as he sipped away at the coffee, feeling the last hold of sleep finally release him.

Colour was beginning to return to his world. He could hear the birds chirping outside, hear the wind rattling the windows, ever so slightly. He was becoming more and more aware of his surroundings - and more and more aware of Lovino.

The Italian certainly did seem much better than what he had yesterday. Antonio was thankful for that. That redness had faded from his eyes, and the dark circles had lightened. Sure, he had noticed that earlier that day, but now he finally had confirmation that it was not him just glossing over the fact. He cracked a small smile at this, but it quickly faded. Red eyes. Reflecting back on them, he realized that the Italian had not truly been lying down to sleep.

He breathed in, and lifted his head so he could look to Lovino fully. "When I came over yesterday..." That got the other's attention. Green eyes locked with his own. They were suspicious; he could not ignore that. "You weren't trying to nap. Were you." It was a statement; not a question. There was no more room for lies or excuses.

"No," Lovino spoke carefully, eyes flicking away, "I was not."

So he had his answer. His lips drew into a thin line. He had known full well that Lovino had been lying to him. There were too many things counting against him, betraying his words. "Thank you," he spoke sincerely. Eyes glanced up to him once more, but did not hold their gaze. "For telling me all that. You're really brave, you know."

A snort, then silence.

Antonio offered a smile. "I'm serious. You really are brave. Not just for telling me, but for going through that and still growing up into what you are today," he spoke again. "You are really strong, Lovino. That's a good quality to have."

Lovino leaned back against the counter, studying Antonio for a time. Then finally, he let out a short hum and pushed away. "Think what you wish," was his only response as he strode past Antonio, motioning for him to follow.

And follow, Antonio did. He, too, pushed away from the counter. He was actually quite thankful that his coffee had cooled down to a tolerable level. He didn't know how much longer he could function without it. He sipped away at the delightful liquid as he walked through the dining room and paused at the sliding door to allow the Italian to open it. Oh, goodie. He'd finally see what was behind that glass.

When he stepped out onto the patio, he was taken by surprise. He knew that he shouldn't have, given the small garden on the front porch, but he couldn't help it. The patio was breathtaking. The entire thing was covered in foliage. Planters with flowering plants stood proud and lush, their colours bright and attracting the sunlight as it shone down through the leaves of the plants curled around the pergola above. His eyes wandered in amazement and wonder, to the variety of vegetables growing from the vines - only a few of them being ripe enough to pick. His eyes caught sight of the succulent, red fruit he treasured so dearly, unable to contain his smile as soon as his eyes laid upon them. Tomatoes. Lovino grew... tomatoes. And judging by their colour and size, they were some pretty damn good ones, too.

This was most certainly an interesting fact to Antonio, and he just could not help but to comment on it. "You grow tomatoes?" was the first thing that left his lips as he wandered over to the fruit, squatting down beside it to examine the fruits closer. Not even a single bug on it. He smiled all the more. He glanced back to find that Lovino had placed himself at the small, round table pushed to one corner of the small patio, leaning back in his chair with the mug in his hands. The sunlight reflected off auburn hair, slightly disheveled from last night's adventures. (Though to be entirely honest, Antonio could have sworn that it looked as though the Italian had at least tried to tame it.)

He grinned at the nod, eyes watching him carefully. He ignored the way they seemed to examine him and turned back to the tomatoes. "That's really nice, actually! I used to grow them all the time. I loved it," he spoke fondly. Anything to get them away from the topic that they previously had... He could see the uncomfortable look in Lovino's eyes, and oh, how he wanted to change that. He held one of the tomatoes delicately, eyes flicking over his shoulder. "Mind if I...?"

"Go ahead."

Was that... pride? Antonio paused at that, but decided to shrug it off for now and pulled the tomato from the vine. He straightened and padded back to the table, taking the other seat. He sat back as he inspected the large fruit, having to set down his coffee in order to examine it with both hands. He smiled. "These are really nice! You take really good care of them. How long have you been growing them for?" He finally set the tomato down, replacing it with his coffee.

Lovino hummed, eyes flicking away and eventually landing on the tomatoes. "I've grown them since I was a child. This is the first time this vine's grown fruit."

Antonio grinned brightly. "Well, it's certainly looking really good! Do they taste good, too?"

Lovino shook his head. "I don't know. I haven't been out here to pick them yet."

Huh. He looked to the tomato beside them. He stared for a moment before he flashed a grin to Lovino. "Be right back." He stood and ventured back inside and when he came back out, he held a knife in his hand. He placed himself right where he had been sitting before, putting his half-empty cup on the table. He took the tomato in his hands, ignoring the frown from his host.

"So you just ran in and grabbed a knife."

"Mmhmm."

"From my kitchen."

"Mmhmm."

" _In my house_."

Antonio paused as he finished the first slice, raising an eyebrow and glancing to Lovino. Where was he getting with this...? "Mmhmm...?"

Lovino let out an exasperated sigh, lowering his coffee. "You do realize this isn't your house, right?"

Oh. The Spaniard froze as this occurred to him. Shit. His face drained of colour as his eyes widened. That had not crossed his mind. He had been too caught up in the joy of the tomato that he didn't even realize he had upset his host. He glanced to the knife, then to Lovino. "I can go put it back." Idiot.

Lovino once again heaved out a sigh and glanced away, pulling his legs up onto the chair. "No. No, it's already too late for that, you've dirtied it. Just finish cuttin' the damn tomato."

Antonio looked to the severed fruit. Right... Okay... He hesitantly glanced to his host. "Lo siento..." he murmured as he continued his cutting of the fruit.

"Yeah, whatever... I don't really care." There was no anger in his voice, no irritation. It only held the same clear, passionate tone that Antonio had grown so accustomed to.

Antonio raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking to Lovino. "Do you normally let strangers run your home?"

"No, but I think that after last night, I don't think I can consider you a stranger."

"So you consider us friends, then?" His chest rose in hope, a smile tugging at his lips.

Lovino's glare instantly scared it off. "I didn't say that," he spoke quickly.

He thought about arguing, but settled for a chuckle and flashed a grin in return. He finished cutting up the tomato and held a piece out to Lovino. "It's only fitting that you have the first taste," he spoke when the other gave him a questioning glance.

The Italian took it with a huff and stared at it for a long moment. Finally, he took a bite. Antonio watched as a spark ignited within Lovino's eyes, hearing the impressed hum. He gave a nod, taking another bit of the juicy fruit. "It's good. They came out... really good this time."

Antonio decided it was now his turn. He took a slice of the tomato and popped it into his mouth, tasting it on his tongue. He could now understand why there was a flicker of pride in Lovino's eyes, in his smirk. He flashed a bright smile. "Sí, they _are_ really good! They're fantastic, Lovino! Why, these are even better than the ones that I used to grow! You sure do have a talent!" Oh and he could see the cheeks darkening already. He handed another slice, offering yet another grin.

"Yeah, whatever... They're just tomatoes..." the Italian mumbled as he paused his coffee-drinking to sample another piece of the tomato. A pause, then a curious glance. Though he had definitely tried to hide it. "How long have you been growin' them?"

A nostalgic smile spread across Antonio's lips as his gaze flicked away. He sat back in his chair, replacing the sliced tomato with his coffee mug. "Let's see..." he pondered as he delved into his memories. There were so many of them, so many cherished times he could think of. That small field of tomatoes had always called to him as a child... "Ever since I can remember, I guess. My family had a farm when I was growing up. It was a small one, but we grew a lot of tomatoes. My father taught me everything I know."

"What made you stop?"

The question almost came as a surprise to him. Frankly, he should have seen it coming. He glanced over to the Italian, unsure of how to answer at first. There were many reasons he had stopped. But did Lovino truly want to hear about them...? And as for the main one... It would take quite a bit of explaining in order to properly convey why he had stopped in the first place.

Lovino tensed at the silence, his legs pulling toward his chest all the more as he cupped the mug in both hands. "You don't have to tell me," he finally spoke, curious eyes glancing away. A flicker of doubt could be seen. Yet that flame burned so much brighter now... Admittedly, Antonio had missed it.

Antonio breathed out a sigh and gave a reassuring smile. "No, it's alright. It's just... a bit of a long story?" he answered, his voice rising a pitch as though it were a question. A glance from the Italian told him to continue. He hummed, drumming his fingers along the porcelain as he glanced away. Well. Best start with the beginning. "I loved growing tomatoes. My family, as I said, had a farm. We lived right by the ocean, too. It was a really nice place, really... I loved it there. But there were some..." he hesitated, "problems.

"My brother and I were never on the best of terms. We were when we were younger, but Miguel always..." How could he properly explain this... His eyebrows furrowed as his head tilted ever so slightly. His eyes flicked to the variety of flowers blossoming so brightly all around them. "He was always a bit of a pain." He laughed at this. "Okay, so maybe that's an understatement.

"He tried to actually kill me a few times. Or so I believed when I was little. We got into really bad fights, and our parents didn't like that. My parents split up and Miguel went to live with my mother while I lived with my father. I... was a bit of a mamma's boy back then, so I really missed her...

"But, I met my two best friends that year, so I guess everything worked out okay, in the end." Oh. Right. He was getting off track. He flashed an apologetic smile. "My parents are both very stern Catholics. Remember how I mentioned that when I told people I was Catholic, they automatically assumed the worst?"

Lovino nodded, though a silent understanding was already beginning to form in his eyes.

"Well." Antonio glanced away, looking into the cup of coffee instead. "My parents were the reason I assume it. They were the really... tough ones. The ones that would swat you upside the head with a bible if you so much as swore in front of them. So when they found out that I was dating another boy... This Dutch transfer student in my school..." He breathed out a sigh through his nose as he sat back. Yes, he remembered him, clear as day. The two would bicker often, sure, but he did have a soft spot for the man, back then. At the time, though, they had both been mere teenagers.

And boy, had they been through quite the tough times... In fact, it was that same guy who introduced him to that lovely Belgian girl whom he claimed to be his little sister. (Married into the family, apparently, thanks to their parents marrying, but let's not get into the details; that's a story for another time.) He shook the thoughts off. "Let's just say they weren't happy with me.

"I was kicked out of my father's home when I was seventeen. My mother didn't have the funds to support both Miguel and I - and our parents still didn't trust us to be in the same city as each other - so I ended up moving in with my friends for a time. Since then, I guess I just haven't had the time to grow tomatoes. I've been too busy with work and school to think about things like that." And he downed the rest of his coffee. Bummer. He set the cup aside and gave a stretch. "But! Everything's better now. My dad's still not 100% okay with it, but hey. What can you do, right?"

Then he realized Lovino's silence. Worry washed over him. Had he said too much? Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to go into so much detail. Damnit, he knew that he should've kept it short! He shouldn't have even mentioned his old lover - not when he was the only man he had ever dated before. Well, truly dated. He always said too much. Silently, he cursed himself for never developing a verbal filter. Cautiously, he glanced to Lovino.

He did not see what he thought he would. Instead, he saw the Italian staring at his coffee with a deep frown, eyebrows furrowed. He did not seem disgusted, however; his expression did not strike as such. Instead, it just seemed... almost disappointed, in a way, yet Antonio could not fathom why it would be at himself. He could only assume that it wasn't, or else that gaze would be directed toward him. He could see the storm brewing within Lovino's eyes, see the fire hiding behind it. It burned brightly now, shining through the clouds of emotion. He could hardly pick out the emotion that lie within the storm; they all seemed to fight for dominance.

"Lovino...?" His voice was quiet, tentative.

Lovino looked to snap out of his thoughts, eyes flicking to Antonio in mild surprise. His shoulders tensed, but after a moment, they relaxed with a breath escaping from his nostrils. "I'm alright," he spoke calmly. His eyes flicked back to the apparently emptied cup in his hands.

"You sure? You're tense, you know."

Lovino breathed out another sigh, eyes flicking to Antonio. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just can't really imagine somethin' like that," he answered.

Well. He hadn't expected that. He hummed and gave a shrug. "If you mean me dating a boy, then that's not something exactly new. I've dated both boys and girls," he pointed out.

Lovino snorted, holding his chin higher. "No. That's not what I meant."

"Oh." Okay, then he had completely taken that the wrong way.

A moment of silence. Then finally, the Italian spoke again, "I just can't believe someone would be that against it."

"¿Qué?"

Lovino stared. At first, he seemed to be confused, but then a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "What? Think I'd be against it?" A pause, then something that Antonio could only assume was a stifled laugh. The smirk only grew. "My brother's gay, remember?"

Oh right. He had forgotten about that. Antonio glanced away momentarily, instead focusing on his thumbs as he clasped his hands together and began twiddling the tiny appendages. "That may have been in a previous conversation..." he mumbled in response.

Once again, that same sound reached the Spaniard's ear - a laugh that was cut off before it had time to develop properly. "I mentioned last night that he had a boyfriend. Monster man. Remember now?"

A nod.

"Well. My brother's kinda always been that way. He flirts with women, sure, we all do. But he's as straight as a damn circle." He grabbed up a slice of the tomato, popping it into his mouth as Antonio watched out of the corner of his eye in curiosity. "Nonno knew. When we were kids, my brother had a huge crush on this one kid. Can't remember the kid's name for the life of me, but I remember him talkin' about it to Nonno. And Nonno told him this; 'I don't care if you like boys or girls, Little One. I'll still love you. And if he hurts you, he'll have to go through me.' And he meant it."

Antonio listened with obvious interest. It was just so... _fascinating_ to hear about Lovino's life, to see the emotion flicker in his eyes. The flame only burned all the brighter, all the more radiant, when he spoke of his family. His family or his home, those were the two things that would keep the fire burning strong. Once again, his smile appeared on his face. "Really..."

Lovino snorted. "Really," he responded, sitting back in his chair. "He met him, too. And his grandfather. The two had a kind of rivalry for a time, I guess. Scared the livin' shit out of the poor kid."

Antonio couldn't suppress that laugh that came from him. "How old was he?"

"Hell if I know. Five? Six? I didn't ask him his damn age."

He wanted to hear more. The more Lovino spoke, the more he wanted to listen. He wanted to learn so much more about the life of this man beside him, hear the stories he had to tell. Yes, he had heard the ones of the trouble he and his brothers had gotten into in the past, but it wasn't enough. Those were the normal stories one would hear about their siblings. The usual stories of 'we got caught climbing a tree' or 'he stole my legos'. But these ones, they seemed so much more personal. They were stories that you wouldn't be telling to a stranger.

Ah, but he still couldn't consider Lovino a friend, could he...? No. No, he decided that he could. There was just too much shared between them to even be considered acquaintances at this point, Antonio decided. And though Lovino had responded to the notion with something that could have very well shot down that thought, Antonio also knew it was Lovino's way of thinking. Why that was would always be a mystery to him. He had a feeling he would never find out why Lovino seemed so hesitant on showing his true emotions and thoughts. Yes, his past may have tied into that, but he felt that there had to be something more. There had to be something beyond that, something that kept him from outwardly expressing himself.

And so as Lovino rattled on, trying his hardest to recall that boy from so long ago, Antonio found himself caught up in his own mind, lost within his own thoughts. His smile was a relaxed one as he merely just stared, giving a nod or short word in response to the words falling from the Italian's lips. His mind could not keep up with the conversation, yet his body seemed to know exactly what to do. He was too caught up in all that was Lovino, it seemed, and he didn't even stop to realize it.

He watched as Lovino's hands bounced and swayed ever so slightly in time with the movements of his lips, watched as the eyes flicked from the Spaniard to the plants. They almost seemed to be avoiding him, yet at the same time, always returning, as if trying to assure himself that the Spaniard was still there. He wondered why that was. If Lovino wanted to look at him, why didn't he? And if he didn't want to, then why did he? He tried to follow his gaze, tried to figure out what exactly Lovino kept glancing to in hopes to find whatever kept distracting him, but found that he could find nothing. It only heightened his curiosity more. And the more he looked, the more he began to realize the subtle hints of almost shyness within the Italian.

He didn't even recognize the trait before, but now that he had, it hit him like a freight train. It became all the more noticeable to him. Lovino was shy.

He was stunned by this discovery. Out of everything he could very possibly describe the Italian as, shy was most certainly not one of them. If he were told to describe Lovino in one word, it would be proud. Perhaps not confident, but most certainly proud. But as he watched those movements, watched as his eyes flicked away every now and then, he could only see it all the more, now that his eyes searched for it. The faint twitch of the lip, the gentle curve of the brow every now and again, the apprehensive flicker in his eyes that would instantly be pushed aside, and even the swooping of a hand. The way Lovino seemed to remained curled up in his chair, too, was proof of this. It was a relaxed posture, Antonio could deduce, but it also held insecurity, with the way the toes curled and relaxed; curled and relaxed.

A sigh escaped the Italian's lips in a huff as his arms fell to his sides. A gentle frown curved his lips downward and a flicker of annoyed doubt sparked in his eyes. "You're not even listenin' to me anymore, are you?" That was the first phrase to ring in his head, clear as a bell.

Antonio snapped out of his thoughts, lifting his chin from his hand. Oh hey, when did that get there? "Hm? Oh, no, I'm listening." A lie. Oh God, don't let Lovino catch on-

"Then tell me the last thing I said."

His shoulders tensed. Crap. He was caught now. He felt his throat dry and his eyes widened a fraction. He then laughed and decided to throw a playful, almost mischievous grin. "You're not even listenin' to me anymore, are you?" he parroted, attempting to even copy the accent and Lovino's deeper tone.

Lovino snorted and rolled his eyes, sitting back in his chair. "I knew it."

Antonio could only flash an apologetic smile. "Lo siento, Lovino. I guess I got distracted."

"That much is obvious. I'm startin' to wonder if you even have a brain in that big head of yours."

"If I didn't, I'd be dead."

"Smartass."

"Better than a dumbass."

"I take that back. Dumbass."

Antonio huffed and stuck out his lower lip in a mock pout. "Oh, you wound me so."

Lovino, on the other hand, wore an amused smirk. "Cry me a river, Dumbass."

"Oh, don't tell me that's my new nickname."

A pause. Lovino's gaze flicked away for a moment, focusing on the pergola. Then, they flicked back to Antonio. "No. I like Tomato Bastard better."

A laugh came from Antonio. Of course he would keep that nickname. He flashed a grin to the Italian, as bright as ever. He just couldn't help it. Even in the short time he had known him, Lovino only managed to brighten his day. He couldn't help but to always wear a smile around the other. Though, he had yet to see that same smile returned. He vaguely wondered if Lovino even could smile, at this point. He was certain that he could; the man had gotten close to it. But it seemed that with every twitch of the lip, it would automatically transform into a smirk rather than a true smile.

It was Lovino's words that were the cause for Antonio's smile to vanish.

"You should call your friends." Green eyes had flicked away, lips falling from their amused smirk. "They're probably wonderin' where you are by now."

Right. His friends. He had forgotten about them, for the moment. He, too, glanced away, instead deciding to preoccupy his sight with the beautiful flowers that bloomed in the sunlight. He almost despised the two. But he knew it wasn't their fault. If anything, he should have been there, at the hotel room. His lips formed a thin line as he recalled the conversation from the day before, how he had intended to return as quickly as possible. So much for that.

The storm had kept him here, trapped him within the house. No. It wasn't the storm, he realized. He just... did not want to leave. Even now, he was dreading the thought. His mind tried to find excuses not to. Ah, but they were all excuses that couldn't work. Silly things such as 'they're probably asleep right now'. That one would be a flat out lie; the two had been careful not to sleep for too long, and judging by the sun's position in the sky, it was past noon. They would not be sleeping this far into the day.

It then tried to tell him that it was too far of a walk. But of course, he had run here just the day before, in the pouring rain. If it had been too far, then surely he would not even had made it here in the first place. He instantly shoved that thought aside as well. Then his mind flicked to the memory of his wallet sitting on the dresser, beside where his phone had been. He had only snatched up his phone, leaving behind his wallet. He hadn't thought about it at the time. His wallet didn't contain just his money - the reason why he had left it in the first place, for he didn't need such things if he was just picking up a guitar - but his room's keycard. If he didn't have his keycard, how was he even going to get in?

Gilbert and Francis would be there, his mind shot back. He breathed out a sigh through his nostrils and just when he felt eyes on him, he pushed up from the chair. He shot a glance toward Lovino and flashed a smile. "I forgot my phone in the bedroom. The, uh, the one you told me to sleep in," he told his host. "So I'll be back."

With a nod from Lovino, Antonio headed off. He dreaded the walk through the dining room, up the stairs, and down the hall. His mind still reeled with possible excuses to stay, even settling on the memory of agreeing to teach Lovino how to play. He had meant to do that yesterday, but with the events that had unfolded, well... He doubted the man even had the will to learn. No doubt he would have struggled to grasp the basics.

He shoved the thoughts aside, accepting his fate. He would have to leave, whether he liked it or not. He had an obligation to his friends. He was visiting Italy with them; not Lovino. Lovino was just someone he had randomly met, and damnit, like he had realized earlier today, he was getting in too deep. He had to push him away. He had to...

His thoughts scattered as he picked up the phone, his eyes settling on the text message that lie waiting for him. He unlocked the screen, his eyes ghosting over the text over and over to assure himself that he had even read it right. The words remained the same.

'Gilbert is in the hospital,' it read, 'He was an idiot and tried to drag us to the bar about an hour after you left. He's okay, everything checks out just fine. So don't worry. He just got a little sick after being out in the rain. You know how he is. The doctors just want to keep him for a bit longer to make sure. I'll let you know when we're back at the hotel. In the meantime, just have some fun with your angel, alright?'

At first, it worried him, to hear that his friend was admitted into the hospital. After all, he knew full well of Gilbert's medical history. He wasn't exactly the healthiest guy around, and hadn't been ever since Antonio had met him. Hell, the first day they met, Gilbert had snuck out of the hospital and took Antonio for the ride! That day had been full of a lot of running and hiding, that was for sure. He cracked a smile at the memory, his worries easing. Gilbert was a strong man. He knew his limits, and while Francis was a worry wart, he, too, knew if Gilbert was in serious danger or not. And judging by the calmness of the text and the reassurance of the words, Gilbert would indeed be fine. If he wasn't, then no doubt Francis would not hide it.

Antonio sent a quick text back, apologizing for his late reply and asking for Francis to keep him updated on Gilbert's health, before pocketing the phone. A part of him wanted to visit his friend. But he knew that if he did, Gilbert would not be happy with him. He was quite the stubborn man, and no doubt he would harp on Antonio all day long if he saw him lying in a hospital bed. He was a proud man who would rather be six feet under than to see someone at his weakest point. The Spaniard chuckled. He almost felt sorry for Francis. He wouldn't doubt that the Frenchman had been scolded multiple times and literally forced from the room due to Gilbert going on a whole rampage for him even being in the same building.

Oh, the joys of having a friend such as Gilbert. He dismissed the thought and ventured out from the room. He knew that he shouldn't, but a part of him almost felt glad. No, not because Gilbert was in the hospital. In fact, that was indeed cause for worry in the Spaniard. But the fact that Francis and Gilbert were preoccupied meant he would not be expected to come back so soon. That meant he was able to spend more time with Lovino. Mentally, he scolded himself. Hadn't he been telling himself all day that he should just pack up and leave? Seemed that it was impossible, at this point. Now he didn't even have anywhere he could go. Even if he left Lovino's house, there would be nowhere for him to return to. The hotel room was locked and without his keycard, there was no getting inside.

He stepped down to the lower floor, following the sounds of running water into the kitchen, where it appeared Lovino had been washing the few dishes that had been dirtied. Once again, Antonio checked his phone, eyes flicking over the text message he had received earlier this morning. "Turns out Gilbert's in the hospital," he mentioned. When he glanced up, his eyes locked with worried, surprised ones.

"The hospital? What's he doin' there?"

Antonio's hands were up instantly. "No, no, he's fine!" he spoke quickly to reassure the Italian. Lovino seemed skeptical at first, but quickly glanced away and continued with the dishes, setting the clean ones aside and turning off the water. The phone returned to the Spaniard's pocket. "He's had a weak immune system ever since before I knew him. He'll be okay. They just want to keep him for a bit longer. Francis says he'll text me when they're out," he explained.

Lovino glanced in Antonio's direction as the guest of the house leaned against the counter. "Then shouldn't you go visit him?"

Antonio shook his head. "Gilbert's the kind of guy who would hate that, really," he answered, "He's... How to put it... He's got a very big, uh..." His eyes flicked away, eyebrows furrowing. Damn. What was the English word for this-? It was simple, no doubt.

"Ego?"

"No, not quite. I mean. He does, but..." He pondered for a moment before he shook his head, gaze returning to Lovino to see the Italian drying his hands on a dish rag. "He has to seem like he's the strongest man out there. He doesn't like people seeing him when he's weak or hurt. So if he's in the hospital, he forbids anyone from seeing him." He supposed that would work.

Lovino hummed in answer, leaning against the counter.

"So... Francis and Gilbert are stuck at the hospital," Antonio concluded. Yes, thank you Captain Obvious.

Lovino snorted. "Well, I kind of guessed that." A short pause, and a raised eyebrow. "And what does that mean for you, exactly?"

"Means I'm stuck outside of the hotel room."

"What, they didn't give you a key?" He seemed to be questioning the logic behind Antonio's words. Antonio could almost feel the silent accusations being thrown at him.

Antonio let out a sigh and gave a shy smile. "I, uh... I may have forgotten my wallet at the hotel room...?" he admitted sheepishly.

At first, Lovino only stared. The blank expression told it all; he didn't quite understand what that had to do with the hotel room itself. But slowly, it dawned on him. A flicker of emotion burned in his eyes, but it was quickly hidden behind annoyance and... amusement? "And let me guess. Your keycard for said room is in your wallet."

Antonio nodded. "Exactly," was his answer. He watched as Lovino breathed out a sigh, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

"You really _are_ an idiot..."

Oh, yes he was. And he was only realizing that all the more, given everything that had happened this entire week. He flashed another smile, this time apologetic.

The hand lowered and Lovino glanced away, moving away from the sink. "Well. I guess that means you're stuck with me for the day," the Italian spoke in a flat tone. "At least until your friends come to pick your sorry ass up."

Wait. Wait, what? Antonio stared in dumbfounded confusion. He watched the Italian walk past him and into the dining room, then out through the archway. Quickly, he scrambled after him, jogging out into the hallway, where he could see Lovino disappearing around the corner. "You mean I actually get to stay here?" he asked, possibly a little too enthusiastically.

After the slam of a door, Lovino reappeared with shoes in his hands. He tossed them in Antonio's directions, slipping on his own. "No. I don't feel comfortable havin' someone in my home," he spoke evenly. "We're goin' out. We're takin' your guitar, and you're not comin' back."

Antonio was quick to tug on his shoes, though he found that he was struggling a bit due to the lack of sitting as he did so. Yes, that meant that the unbalanced man almost fell a few times. At least Lovino was too distracted by putting on his own shoes and grabbing the guitar himself - as well as a bag in which he slung over his shoulder. "Then what about yesterday?"

"Yesterday was an exception because it was rainin' cats and dogs out there," Lovino answered without missing a beat. "If it wasn't raining, I would have shoved the guitar at you and made you leave. As I said. I don't like people in my home."

That made a little too much sense. The night he had dropped off the instrument, Lovino seemed a little too protective of the doorway, always slipping in and out as fast as he could, as if trying to hide what was beyond. Why Lovino was so picky about having people in his home, Antonio couldn't understand, due to the Spaniard having a policy of not even needing to knock to be let into his home. But he could accept a man's wishes for his home not to be intruded on. He flashed an apologetic smile, taking the guitar when he was offered to him. "Then I apologize for intruding," he spoke.

Lovino shook his head, pulling open the door as Antonio stepped out of the way. "It was raining. I don't care."

He decided to instead shrug off the twinge of guilt for now, following his host out the door. He breathed in the fresh air, the lingering scent of the sea filling his nostrils. The door closed behind him as he strode out to the pathway lining the street, eyes glancing this way and that. "Well. If I'm stuck with you, then do I at least get to know where I'm going?" he questioned as he focused his attention back to the Italian. Apparently, the man was already leading the way, hands shoved into his pockets. He was quick to follow, jogging until he could fall into time with his steps.

Lovino glanced over his shoulder, then to his side when Antonio finally caught up. "You said that your friends will tell you when you can go back, right?"

Antonio nodded.

"Then that doesn't give us much time for a whole tour of Napoli or some shit like that." He paused at the grin he was given, eyes narrowing and a frown forming. "No. I was not goin' to take you on a damn tour, now stop it with that stupid grin of yours."

Antonio listened, forcing the wide grin down to a small smile. He carefully slung the strap of his guitar across his shoulder, pushing it out of the way.

Lovino glanced away, and from where Antonio stood, he could see colour just barely dusting the other's cheeks. "I was thinkin' of just goin' down to the beach. Until they call. Simple enough. Means I don't have to go far, either."

For a moment, Antonio couldn't shake the thought that Lovino had remembered their conversation a few nights prior. He had mentioned, after all, in great detail of just how much he loved that particular beach. But, of course, he could not allow himself to speak such things; they would only be shot down. Not to mention he was sure that was most definitely not the reason Lovino had decided on that place in specific. It just so happened to be the closest place to relax, he reminded himself.

"If you want to go to the beach, that's fine by me!" Antonio spoke - perhaps a little too cheerfully. He didn't overlook the bewildered glance shot his way.

Lovino snorted, his nose tilting only slightly higher into the air. "Of course you wouldn't mind. The ocean is a sort of kink for you, isn't it?" he accused.

He felt his cheeks redden, ever so slightly. He looked to Lovino, almost stunned into silence. "¿Q-qué?" he spat out. Quickly, he shook his head. "No, no, it's nothing like that! Nothing like that at all!"

Lovino smirked, amusement dancing in his eyes. He looked to Antonio out of the corner of his eyes as he strode on toward the beach. "Really. Why don't I believe you?"

Oh God, his cheeks were rapidly growing darker, the colour spreading to his ears. "Really, it's not-! I like the ocean, but I've never- It's not- Oh dios mío-!" Antonio groaned, looking away. He ran a hand through his hair, his mind scrambling to explain himself. Nothing.

"So having sex in the ocean is something that has never occurred to you."

He stumbled at the words, wide eyes flicking to Lovino. "¿QUÉ?" Where the hell was this coming from? His head was spinning, his cheeks flaring up in bright red. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, his mind scrambling to come up with an explanation as to why Lovino was all of a sudden bringing up something like _that_. He stumbled over words even he couldn't decipher, only to instantly grow silent when he heard a chuckle.

Lovino actually _chuckled_ , a hand reaching up to hide his lips, as though to hide the chuckle itself. It came as such a surprise, Antonio forgot how to even breathe, his steps faltering for a moment. A triumphant - and highly amused - smirk was tossed Antonio's way. Mischief burned brightly in green eyes. "You're too easy."

Finally, he remembered how to breath, jogging a few steps to catch up to the other as concrete turned to dirt and then to sand. "What do you mean by that?" he managed to utter.

"Just what I said. You're too easy," Lovino repeated. "Too easy to poke fun at. Geeze, are all you Spaniards like this?"

Antonio's stopped abruptly. Now he understood. Lovino was toying with him. This was his way of having fun. It wasn't a cruel kind of taunting, but a slight pestering. He cracked a smile, but instantly hid it behind a pout-like frown. "Are all you Italians this straightforward?" he shot back, following after the Italian once more.

Lovino tossed a confused glance over his shoulder, but said nothing in return.

Now was his chance. Giving a smirk, Antonio lengthened his stride to catch up with the younger. "Seemed to me that you were offering something a little more than just hanging out."

Green eyes widened as his jaw slackened. For a moment, Lovino was at a loss for words. His cheeks heated to a bright red and he glanced away, shoving his hands deeper into his pocket. "I wasn't suggestin' anything, you idiot!" He grumbled for a moment before adding on, "You really _are_ a damn pervert..."

Antonio laughed. "You're the one who brought it up. It's your fault." Lovino's cheeks only reddened, but there were no more words. At least, as far as Antonio could understand. He could make out that it was Italian, but what was actually said, well... That, he couldn't figure out. Yes, Spanish and Italian were indeed very similar languages, but alas, they weren't exactly the same. There was still too much a difference for Antonio to be able to understand the foreign language.

The conversation ended there, neither of them wanting to pick it back up. And frankly, Antonio was grateful for that. He did not want the images from before to repeat in his head. Not only were the memories of hovering over Lovino still fresh in his mind, but the words spoken to him just now surely did put some interesting scenes into his head. Scenes of which he was positive would never happen in the first place. Though, he was curious; why had Lovino suddenly said such a thing? It just did not seem like him.

No, no, he couldn't let himself think on it for a moment longer. He was delving far too deep into those thoughts, and if he continued, there would be no climbing out. He was more or less stuck with the Italian for now, seeing as how there was no possible way he could return to the hotel. Thankfully, he didn't need much help in distracting in his mind, for the distraction came in the form of a guitar tapping against his hip. His eyes flicked to the instrument, and for a moment, he paused, realizing that Lovino, too, had slowed to a stop.

He looked to the Italian with a smile, pulling the guitar into his hands and holding it up to bring attention to it. "Lovi." That was enough to get the other's attention. Both pairs of green eyes locked on one another. Antonio motioned to the guitar in his hands. "Would now be a good time to teach you?"

Lovino glanced toward the guitar, then glanced away entirely. "No," he answered, shrugging off the bag and letting it drop to the sand. He knelt down beside it. "I already know how to play."

The Spaniard stared. That wasn't right. Hadn't Lovino asked him to teach him? His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "But I thought you said-"

Lovino cut him off with a glance, quickly interjecting, "I know what I said. But I already know how." He unzipped the bag and pulled out a large blanket from inside, unfolding it and laying it out on the sand. "I also said that my brother knows how to play. He and I shared the same guitar, when we were younger. So. I know how to play."

Slowly, Antonio connected the dots. If Lovino had already known how to play, then there was another reason for him to say such a thing. He wouldn't have asked if there wasn't a reason behind it. At first, it completely baffled the Spaniard. But as he allowed himself to ponder on it, placing himself down on the blanket when Lovino gestured for him to, it was slowly revealed why Lovino had asked that of him.

He actually wanted an excuse. It couldn't have been for the storm; neither of them had known of that until the storm rolled in. It couldn't have been Lovino wanting company; he didn't like having others at his home, as he had stated himself. But could it really be that Lovino just wanted an excuse in order to see him again? No. It couldn't be... Could it? Antonio pondered this, his brow furrowed, as he looked to the guitar in his lap. He studied the wood, his mind reeling with thoughts and possible explanations. Yet it always landed at the same thing; Lovino just wanted an excuse to see him. Why that was, Antonio couldn't even begin to fathom.

Well. That was a bit of a lie. He had ideas, he had assumptions, but there was no way it could be something like that. Things like that didn't happen. This was the real world, not some fantasy realm. His eyes flicked to Lovino just as music began playing from a small stereo the other had set out, the Italian lyrics breaking the silence. This man truly was a mystery. He just could not figure him out, no matter how much he tried. The more he found out about him, the more he would realize that there was still more to be seen. He felt that he had discovered so much, and yet at the same time, he felt as though he knew absolutely nothing.

He decided to shrug the thoughts aside, letting a smile come to him. It was a little too easy for him to do, it seemed, though he didn't allow himself to ponder on why. He was thinking far too much today. "When did you grab all this?" he questioned. "I didn't think it took that long to grab my phone."

Lovino placed himself at the other side of the towel, near the radio he had brought along. His eyes looked to Antonio first, then to the sea. His shoes had already been removed, tucked away inside the bag. As Antonio decided to follow suit in removing his own, Lovino answered, "It didn't." He sat back, breathing in the salty air. "I live right next to the ocean. It's not that strange if I come down here often." At the silence he was met with, he decided to continue, "I have a bag to keep this stuff in, for whenever I get the whim to go. That way, I don't have to worry about tryin' to find it all."

So Lovino was someone who always thought ahead, someone who would much rather have things ready beforehand. Interesting. "But why not just sit on... that thingy? The, uh, the balcony?" Antonio questioned curiously.

Lovino heaved out a heavy sigh, once again focusing his attention to his company. "It's not the same. Bein' down here is a lot different than bein' up there," he responded. "For one, you have the sand right here. It's warmer. And if you want to go to the water, it's right there."

Antonio hummed in interest. He offered a smile and removed the strap of his guitar from his shoulder, setting the instrument down between them. He sat forward and thus, the conversation began. It was quite the casual one, compared to the ones that became more common between them, it seemed. They didn't speak of their siblings this time, but rather, of their old homes, the places they used to live, and the places they used to travel. They spoke of the various cultures and people they had come across, telling their stories of past events concerning them.

And all of it, Antonio found far too interesting. Even when talking about the other people they had encountered, Antonio learned more about Lovino and his life. Just from the interactions told between Lovino and these strangers, Antonio could deduct that Lovino was not the angry, hot-headed man that he had first encountered. Quite the contrary. Yes, he had discovered this before, but the Spaniard had wrongly been under the impression that the Italian was like that to everyone when he first met someone. He had thought for sure that Lovino was someone who shoved others away without a second guess, always acted rude and stand-offish from the get-go, like he had seen when they had literally ran into each other that day in the marketplace.

But oh, he was so very wrong. From their conversations, he realized that Lovino was so much more than that. He was actually quite the friendly fellow, unless given reason to act differently - such as staring at him like a creep. He thought for sure that Lovino had to get to know someone before he let his walls down and allowed for others to see that smirk. But as he found out, Lovino normally tossed a smirk here or there, and spoke freely to others. He was not one to avoid people. He wouldn't seek them out, but he did not avoid them, either. He was someone who would flirt with women or give opinions to those who asked him of it. He never feared speaking his mind, and that much was obvious enough.

Of course, there were indeed those stories where Lovino had gotten off on the wrong foot with someone, had cursed at them or metaphorically spat in their faces for something. Each one of them, Antonio realized, always gave the Italian a sour attitude, as though the opinions from their first encounters hadn't changed. He couldn't help but to relate it back to their own story.

When Antonio had first laid eyes on Lovino, he had been intoxicated, standing on the very same beach they sat at now. Lovino knew nothing of him, and he knew nothing of Lovino. But when they had met the next day, they instantly got off on the wrong foot - the tomatoes being destroyed and Lovino's ankle being twisted, all thanks to Antonio - or so Lovino claimed. Not once had Antonio heard his name fall from Lovino's lips, yet that judgmental gaze no longer fell upon him. No longer did Lovino seem suspicious of his every move, and he could even let down his guard enough to allow a stifled chuckle or two to slip past his defenses.

This was very different from the stories he heard, he realized. And he found it absolutely fascinating. As they spoke, he wondered what would have happened if things had gone any differently. If Lovino hadn't twisted his ankle, would he have run off? If Antonio had fled, rather than stayed and fight, would Lovino be in the hospital? Or worse? If the both of them hadn't gone out to eat, would they have even started talking as they did? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that even if a single thing was different, if a single event had changed in even the slightest, things would not have turned out the way they had. A part of him was glad that it had lead them here, to where they sat and spoke to each other on the beach.

But another part almost wanted things to go differently. A part of him wished that Lovino hadn't twisted his ankle, that he had gotten away without a single scratch. Then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have grown so attached to the man. There was no going back now, however. The cards have already been dealt. The first domino had already fallen. There was no changing that.

For hours, they spoke, trading stories and commenting on the events that took place. Every now and then, Antonio would retrieve his phone from his pocket to check to see if he had received a text, only to find that there was nothing to be seen. He thought about perhaps messaging the Frenchman himself, but quickly dismissed the thought. He had already messaged him earlier that day, and if Francis needed to contact him, he needed to save the battery. It was draining fast, much to his displeasure. Finally, he gave up on the thought entirely and assured himself that the sound was turned on before tucking it safely away inside his pocket, never to be touched again.

And thus, the conversation continued, until Antonio's attention was distracted by the radio playing gentle music in the background. He didn't know what it was about the song at first, but something about it just so happened to catch his attention like no other that had come on before. His eyebrows drew together and he glanced to the radio sitting beside the Italian. "Hey, turn that up real quick," he spoke, motioning to the electronic device.

At first, Lovino seemed hesitant, but then decided not to argue. He did as he was requested, the Italian music growing louder.

It was catchy. Very much so. It was an older song, though Antonio couldn't pinpoint the year. And as he sat there, listening to it, he couldn't help but to sway back and forth. He looked to Lovino in childish curiosity. "What song is this?"

Lovino was silent at first, unsure of what to think, before answering, "Mambo Italiano." He looked to the radio, fiddling with a few of the settings to get a clearer reception. "They play it every now and then, I guess. It's not the best, but it's okay."

Antonio grinned. "What are you talking about?" He unfolded his legs and pushed up, dusting off his pants from the sand that had found its way onto the fabric. "It's a great song!" The beat was just too catchy to him. He ignored the questioning gaze directed toward him as he reached down and grabbed the Italian's wrist. When the other didn't move, he instead slid his hand down to Lovino's and gave a wink. "Shall I show you how well we Spaniards dance?"

Lovino snorted and pulled his hand away. "I don't dance," he stated flatly.

Antonio wasn't having any of it. He squatted down before the Italian and took up his hand again, bringing the knuckles to his lips. His eyes locked with Lovino's. "Just one dance? Por favor?"

Silence. For a few seconds, there was only silence. Then finally, Lovino heaved out a sigh. "Will you leave me alone if I agree?"

A grin spread across Antonio's lips. "Of course." He glanced to the side, then to the other, surveying the area around him. "And look, we're alone. You don't have to worry about people seeing you, anyway."

"I wasn't," Lovino answered quickly. He then smirked, confidence sparking in his eyes. "I was more worried about you makin' a fool out of yourself when you realize Italians are better at dancin' than you Spaniards."

Well then. Antonio was nearly bouncing in excitement as he straightened, pulling Lovino up with him. He lead the other away from the radio and guitar, onto the warm sands. "I think once you see how talented we Spaniards are, you'll change your mind," he challenged with a grin that refused to leave him.

The game was set. Both men were clearly proud of their heritage and talents, and when they began dancing, their hands remained linked. At first, it was a rather awkward dance, neither of them truly knowing what they were even doing. But as they let the music take over and allowed their feet to move, kicking up sand, they found their bodies moved freely. They swayed in time to the upbeat music, pushing and pulling against each other's palms. They twisted and turned, feet following one another. Neither of them lead, neither of them followed. They kicked sand at one another with each kick of their feet, yet neither of them seemed to do it with ill intent.

As the song played on, they grew bolder with their movements. Their hips swayed and Antonio found himself spinning his partner, and even allowing Lovino to spin him, with a laugh from the Spaniard. Though their movements and challenging gazes screamed of their competitive intentions, their bodies without competition, but rather, as one. The words of compliment Antonio spoke to Lovino were lost to his own ears, but he did not miss the confident smirk thrown his way. Their eyes never left one another, not truly.

In Antonio's world, there was only Lovino. Lovino and the music. He hardly even recognized their surroundings, the very beach they stood on. His heart soared and his body moved with nothing holding it back. The warmth spreading from his hands and wherever his body accidentally brushed with Lovino's was intoxicating. He could not let his hands pull away from the other's palms for longer than a brief moment to swap hands or switch positions.

Then he laughed.

Antonio's breath caught in his throat as the sound left Lovino's lips. He thought for sure that he was dreaming, that he had fallen asleep on that blanket, speaking to the Italian. But sure enough, it had been real. His steps faltered for a very brief moment, but he was quick to pick it back up and continue their dance. That laugh echoed in his mind, then it came again. The joy fueling the fire in Lovino's eyes captivated him. He had seen amusement. He had seen confidence, pride, anger, relief, fear... But joy... And that laugh...

His head was spinning, his lungs refusing to supply him with oxygen. It was beautiful. He wanted to hear it again, and again, until his dying day. A laugh of his own bubbled up and he could have sworn this was the widest his grin had ever been, right now, at this very moment. "You laughed!"

The exclamation seemed to catch Lovino off guard, eyes widening in surprise at the sudden outburst. Green eyes flicked away for a short moment before returning. "Yeah? So? Am I not allowed to laugh?"

Antonio laughed again. "No, no, that's not it," he spoke. "It's just... That's the first time I've ever heard you laugh!" He didn't get an answer. Instead, Lovino just glanced away and Antonio could spy the traces of a blush dusting his cheeks. And... the twitch of the lips. No. The definite curl of his lips.

Lovino didn't just laugh. He was _smiling_. At this very moment, his lips were curved upward in a smile. And oh, was it beautiful...

"Woah, are you really smiling right now?" He hadn't meant to say it, but it slipped out of his lips, nonetheless. Eyes flicked to him, that same shyness from earlier that day held within them. The cheeks darkened a fraction and Antonio leaned forward. "You are! You _are_ smiling!" The cheeks heated to a bright red, the smile trying - and ultimately failing - to hide behind a mask of annoyance.

"Damnit, Tomato Bastard, shut up already! You're annoyin' the hell outta me!" was Lovino's answer just as the song drew to a close.

A laugh bubbled up from Antonio, the dance slowing to a stop. Yet they didn't pull away. Their hands remained linked. He gave a grin and finally drew one hand away. It didn't stay away from the other's skin for long, instead tapping the other's cheek to catch his attention. "I didn't say it was a bad thing, Lovino." He could hear the next song begin, the singer's voice at first giving a short monologue as the a soft piano played in the background. He could hear the word 'Napoli' and instantly, it caught his attention. He gave a grin as his eyes met Lovino's, just to reassure him of what he had told him.

With the sun setting beyond the horizon, and the sky bursting into colour, the other instruments made their debut, the artist beginning her song. He could not understand the words, but his body moved along with the music. His hand lowered to Lovino's waist and they continued their dance.

This song, too, seemed to be of a fast pace. Yet, it was different. It was more intimate, and their dance caught on quickly. They swayed and twirled in time, turning with one another and stepping as one. Once again, neither of them lead, neither of them followed. They spun with each other, and much unlike the previous song, they found themselves stepping closer and closer with each spin, until Antonio could feel Lovino's chest against his. He could not look from the Italian's eyes, lost within them. Lovino, too, dared not to look away as they danced.

The sand cooled beneath their bare feet, yet neither of them took notice. They could not tear their gaze away, could not concentrate on anything but each other and the music seeming to fill their entire world. The shadows fell long across the sands, yet neither of them took notice as they twirled in unison.

As the song slowed, Antonio took both of Lovino's hands in his and lifted, twisting Lovino in his arms in time to the music. He lowered the hands once more, the Italian's arms crossing before them. With Lovino's back pressed against his chest, Antonio continued to sway, their feet slowing to mimic the gentle Spaniard could feel Lovino lean into the embrace, and dipped his head forward until it rested against Lovino's shoulder, his eyes peering over the fabric of the other's shirt.

His heart beat wildly in his chest, his nostrils filling with Lovino's scent. He smelled of flowers and herbs, he realized... The very same plants that grew on his patio. They swayed together in silence, rocking side to side, as the song continued on. And Antonio did not want to move. He wanted to stay right there, with Lovino in his arms. He felt as though he could hardly breathe, sweat beading on his skin in response to their dance. He could feel Lovino's hands tighten around his, their fingers interlaced, and he gave a gentle squeeze of his own in return. The music filled his ears, the lyrics echoing in his head. He felt a certain pull from it, and he could only grow all the more curious about it.

He was hesitant to break the silence between them, but after a moment, his eyes flicked to Lovino, not yet removing his head from where it rested. "What's this song about?" His voice was quiet, hardly even there. But it had been heard, as acknowledged by the gaze flicking to him, then away to look toward the setting sun.

"A night in Naples," Lovino answered quietly. He breathed in, then slowly let it out. Antonio realized that it was broken; Lovino was trembling, ever so slightly. And if he focused his senses, he could feel Lovino's heartbeat, beating in time with his own elated pulse. "She's singing about an angel she met, under the moon and sea. She fell in love with the angel, and even if he couldn't fly, he took her to Heaven."

It became all too clear why he had felt drawn to this song. Antonio's eyes flicked away, focusing instead to the sand. He allowed his eyes to slowly slide closed, swaying still, though the song itself had ended. Lovino swayed with him. The next song started, yet neither of them took notice.

"It's stupid. Isn't it?" The tone gave question as to whether or not even Lovino believed his own words.

Antonio shook his head, ever so slightly. "No," he spoke carefully, "No, I don't think so..." Then he did something he did not expect that he would. Gently, he placed a kiss upon Lovino's shoulder. He thought that perhaps it would go unnoticed, but the reaction told differently. This close to Lovino, he could hear his breath hitch, feel his heartbeat pick up a fraction. It had not gone unnoticed. His mind screamed that Lovino would pull away after that. But he did not. Instead, he pushed into Antonio, the two falling into a comfortable silence.

And they swayed, shifting their weight from one foot to another and yet not moving an inch, until the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. The stars came out of hiding and the moon illuminated the sky, casting its silvery glow across the beach. Antonio finally let his eyelids pull back, his gaze focusing on their linked hands - Lovino's only slightly paler than his own. He felt so calm, staying just like this, with Lovino in his arms. But he knew that all good things must come to an end. He could not stay here. The sun had already set. Even if his friends wouldn't be at the hotel, he knew he had to part from Lovino. He could not stay like this.

After a moment, he pulled away from the Italian. It was slow and reluctant, but eventually, his arms fell away from Lovino's waist. But only one hand released its hold. Lovino turned as he had pulled away, eyes glancing to him. Antonio offered a smile and without giving it a second thought, he cupped Lovino's cheek and moved forward. Then he realized what he was doing. Surprisingly enough, he did not stop himself, only changed its direction. Giving a gentle squeeze to the hand linked to his, he pressed his lips against a soft cheek. "Thank you for taking care of me today, Lovino. I... I had a lot of fun," he told the other. He pulled away. "I should go now. Francis and Gilbert-"

"I know," Lovino cut in, "I know..." He pulled his hand away from Antonio's and crossed both of his arms in front of his chest, as if to form a physical barrier between the two. "You don't have to explain it to me. Just... go."

There was no anger in Lovino's voice, yet Antonio couldn't help but to worry. He breathed in, before offering a small smile. "Today was fun. Maybe... we could do it again sometime...?" What was he even thinking? There was no way he could. Tomorrow was his last full day in Italy. The day after, he would be leaving. He instantly shoved the thought aside. He could always visit, he supposed... That was always an option, if he could find the time.

Lovino glanced to Antonio, before his eyes settled on the Spaniard at last. The gaze softened, and the corners of his lips twitched. He seemed to try to control it at first, but soon thought better of it, allowing for a small smile to form. "Yeah..." was his only answer.

Antonio spoke a quiet farewell, but alas, before he could even turn away, he took the Italian into his arms and gave a tight squeeze. To his surprise, the embrace had been returned, if not hesitantly, just before he had pulled away. He gathered up his belongings - his guitar and his shoes - and bid his final farewell. And off he went, his feet reluctantly taking him farther away from his Italian.

His angel.

For only a moment, he could feel eyes upon him, but then that feeling seemed to disappear as the sand turned to dirt. He tugged on his shoes and with a glance over his shoulder, he could see Lovino sitting upon the blanket, staring out to the ocean with his knees drawn to his chest. The Italian's back was to him, and from this distance, Antonio could hear the soft music coming from the small radio. Antonio forced himself to avert his gaze and continued on, stepping onto concrete once again and taking the same path he before, the path that would eventually lead him back to the hotel.

In silence, he walked. He let his thoughts rule his mind, memories and fantasies melding together. He wondered what would have happened if he had let his body do as it pleased, had allowed for his lips to press against Lovino's. Would they be soft? Would they be rough? He could imagine them being either or. Lovino's soul itself was 'soft', while his exterior was 'rough'. Which would his lips reflect? What would he taste like? What would be the Italian's reaction be? Would he return it? Would he push him away? Or perhaps, worst of all, would he do nothing and just stare?

Antonio pondered on the possibilities as he walked, his gait slow as he strolled along the darkened streets of Naples. Their dance had been all too intimate, he realized. The first one possibly could have been taken as a platonic one, but even that was stretching it. But the second... Antonio's face flushed at the memory. They way they moved with each other, their bodies in unison... Lovino had said that he didn't dance. But his movements proved that wrong. He was able to keep up with the Spaniard, swayed along with him. And at the end of that dance, with Lovino pressed against him...

It wasn't sexual, he realized. Not in the least. It wasn't like the kind of dancing one would see at a bar. No, it was so much more than that. The simple thought of it was enough to make his heart flutter. The memory of exactly what happened... Now that was more than enough for his heart to skyrocket, never to be seen again. He could feel it beating within his chest, threatening to burst from his ribcage at any second. Yet it was strange... The memory itself was so clear and distinct and yet, it all felt like a dream, almost too hazy for him to remember.

As he neared the hotel, he made his decision. He didn't have to stop seeing Lovino all together. That was not an option, at this point. If he was allowed, he would make multiple trips to Italy, any time he was free. It was a silly notion, perhaps, but he felt that it was right. He couldn't just let this slip away from him. The more he realized this, the more he came to the conclusion that there was no crawling out of this hole he had dug for himself.

His eyes settled on the window of the room, at first confused by the light shining through. But then as his thoughts of Lovino scattered, he realized exactly the reason behind it; his friends had returned. Just before he got to the door, he checked his phone. Not a single message. He decided to dismiss it for now and slowed to a stop before the door. He'd be able to question them about it soon. Lifting a hand, he knocked.

It didn't take long for the door to swing open, Francis appearing in the doorway. With a grin, he pulled Antonio inside and kissed both cheeks. "Oh, Antonio, mon ami! Gilbert and I were just talking about you!" he spoke excitedly. The door closed behind the two and Francis lead Antonio further inside, taking his guitar from him to set it down. Gilbert gave a wave from his place on the bed, propped up against the headboard and too invested in his TV show to even properly greet the Spaniard. Sure enough, the Prussian-blooded man looked just fine. No doubt, he would be as healthy as always when morning rolled around. "I was going to call you when we got back, you see, but my phone died just as we got here! It won't even turn on! It's charging now, though. But I'm so glad you made it back, I was worried we'd have to go searching the whole town for this angel of yours!"

Antonio watched on as Francis bustled around the room, kicking off his shoes and placing himself down on the bed he shared with Francis. He cracked a smile as he watched his friend, but still said nothing in return. It seemed that the Frenchman already had that covered. It was quite the blessing, really, for he felt as if he were in a daze. He couldn't even fully concentrate on the conversation unfolding before him.

"Gilbert and I were just talking and he was saying that we should all go out drinking for our last night in Naples. I think it's a fantastic idea! I even searched the city to find a place, and I found the perfect spot, by the sea," Francis rattled.

"Hey, Fran, stop for a moment, I think you're confusing him or something," Gilbert spoke up. After he had attracted the attention of both Antonio and Francis, he leaned forward, brow furrowed. He studied Antonio for a long moment before he grunted. "Hey, you okay, Toni? You look kind of out of it."

Wow, he didn't think that he was that obvious. The words left his lips without even crossing his mind. "I think I'm in love."


	6. Day Six: Crazy From Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! So I purposefully decided to finish this chapter time for the holidays :D For those of you who celebrate it, Happy Christmas! And for those who don't, well, here's a present for you anyway. Just consider it a regular gift c: I thought today would be the best day to upload a chapter. Well. Before I decide to talk your ear off… Enjoy the sixth chapter of Una Notte a Napoli. ♥

 

**.Day Six.  
** **Crazy From Love**

The late afternoon sun burned his eyes. The rays filtered in through the tree's leaves as they swayed and danced. The sound was soothing to his ears, but the sunlight flickering in and out of his eyes was almost too much to bear. He had tried to shield them with a hand to his forehead, the other resting on his stomach, but it was of no use. There would be no shelter from the accursed rays, try as he might. The sun was far too determined, much to his displeasure. An annoyed sigh escaping from his lips, Antonio let his red-rimmed eyes slide closed, brow drawing together beneath his hand. He could feel the faint twitch in his lips as they curved downward, the annoyance once again rising within him. He would not let it rule him this time, letting it sink to the back of his mind. This was merely a minor setback. He had been stupid, and he knew that. There was absolutely no reason for him to be angry with the sun; it was simply doing its job, warming the earth and providing light.

And boy was it doing its job well on this fine day... The folds of his clothes clung to the curves of his body, a light film of sweat acting as a sort of weak glue. It was uncomfortable to sit under, and he was thankful for the shade that the tree provided. Under normal circumstances, he would not mind the heat. There had been plenty of times in his past where he would simply just grin and say it was such a beautiful day. If he wasn't dozing off underneath the shade of a tree, then he would roll up his sleeves, throw open the windows, and clean. He would sweep and do laundry, wash dishes and dust... But he was far from home. So very far from home... And oh, was he thirsty...

He worked his tongue in his mouth; a futile attempt to wet it. His throat begged for water, but there was no water to be found. He feared moving from where he was, feared venturing off to find the much-needed liquid of life. As he saw it, he was lost enough as it was. He knew not this area of Naples. He did not know which way to travel, who to ask. There were plenty of people passing him by without sparing so much as a single glance, but judging by the way they spoke with one another, the foreign words falling from their tongues, they would not understand what he was saying. The languages were simply far too different...

Perhaps it wasn't the brightest of ideas to venture this far. No, he shouldn't have gone out at all - especially without first grabbing either his cell phone or wallet. He gave no word of where he was headed, for he hadn't known, himself. His footsteps had initially tried to lead him toward Lovino's house, but he had instantly turned them away the moment he realized this. He wished he hadn't. Maybe then he would have an idea of where he was, and could come up with an excuse for his impromptu visit. (Though trying to explain why he returned at such early hours in the morning, that would be quite difficult.) No. Instead, he had managed to take one too many forgotten turns.

He didn't realize the city was as large as it was. It was most certainly beautiful, he could see that much now that the sun shone down in all its glory. But beauty was nothing when you had no idea of where to go. He could smell freshly baked goods upon the breeze, coming from places he assumed would also have water, but there was no way he could even think of going to such places. He had no money; it was all back in the hotel room, tucked safely within the folds of his wallet. The sounds of people laughing and talking surely were splendid and added to the beauty that was Naples, but alas, it meant nothing when most words only left him in confusion when he tried to tune into the conversations. He could hear the low hum of tires on asphalt, hear the sudden honks that would be startling if he were close enough. But lying here in this square, where only pedestrians were allowed, he could not find which path to take to lead him to the busy road.

Even if he had, there was no point. There was no way one would hop on out of their car to help him out - someone who knew either Spanish or English. Thus, while all these sights, sounds, and smells added to the liveliness of the city, they meant nothing. They helped very little. All they reassured him of was that he was still very much within Naples, Italy - and he was already very well aware of that. He hadn't ventured as far as to question which city he lay within.

Antonio groaned and ran his hand down his face, eyelids fluttering open once more. There was no point in sleeping. He wouldn't be able to. He was surprised that he had slept for as long as he had in the first place. Judging by the position of the sun itself, it was already well past noon. He knew he could be a difficult one to stir from his slumber, but he had not thought that it would be that difficult. He had thought that perhaps the sun would have roused him. Perhaps the tree did its job, after all, as well as the buildings all around... He supposed that could be an answer to it, though he couldn't say for sure.

Finally, he pushed himself up. He swung his legs over the edge of the bench, grimacing at the stiff ache in his back, the dull throbbing of his shoulder from sleeping on it for far too long. He groaned as he straightened his spine, hearing a few cracks at the motion. He winced as he rolled his shoulder, massaging the muscle as he did so in an attempt to soothe the pain. The more he worked at it, the more it slowly loosened, though the dull ache still remained. He ran a hand through tousled chocolate locks, shaking his head momentarily. "Never. Again," he grounded out in a disgruntled mumble to himself.

The next time he wandered off like that, he decided, he would be sure to bring his wallet. A cheap motel would be far better than a stiff wooden bench with absolutely no padding. Hell, even the grass would have been better. Well. No matter... What's done is done, and there was no going back, no matter how much he internally complained - no matter how much his body groaned in protest at every move. At least it was slowly easing now that he was moving and stretching out the sore muscles...

Movement caught his eyes and his gaze flicked up as a young couple walked by, the woman holding on to the man's arm as she walked. He flashed a smile, but they did not so much as look toward him. Great... He wondered just how bad he might look. He knew that he had rubbed at his eyes far too often today, thanks to the sun's aggravation, but was there really enough reason to ignore him entirely? Maybe, he reasoned, they just had places to go. Too caught up in their own little world. His eyes flicked to the young couple once more, but only for a brief moment.

Couple. There was the key word. They were a couple. He could tell by the way that she ever so slightly tilted her head toward him, as if debating whether or not to even try resting it upon his shoulder. For a moment, he did not see that woman and her partner. No, he saw two other figures, though it wasn't the exact same position. Because of course, the Italian would never be so feminine in the way to tilt his head in such a way. Antonio knew that... Instead, what he saw in his mind's eye was a couple walking down the street, fingers intertwined and shy glances flicking toward him, every now and then. The other hand was tucked into a pocket, shoulders hunched ever so slightly in an attempt to hide himself. As if it would help him fade away from the eyes of others. That fire that burned so brightly...

Antonio shook the thought from his mind. He could almost laugh. Such thoughts were ridiculous. But after last night, he couldn't outright deny them, either. Not to himself, nor to anyone else. He breathed out a sigh and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees to support the weight of his upper right. Right... To deny it would be denying that the night before had happened at all. No. That this entire week had happened... From that first day, when he first spotted an angel standing atop a balcony, all the way to the single moment where he held the world in his arms. He could not even begin to fathom how he had fallen so quickly. It just did not seem possible. He had read about it in stories, seen it movies, but how could such a thing happen to him? It was... far too optimistic. Stupid, Francis had called it...

He swallowed, his lips forming a thin line. Francis... The man who always preached on and on about love and finding the right one... had been the one to call it outrageous. Accused Antonio of over thinking, of being childish. He knew full well that Francis was simply looking after him; it was just how the Frenchman had always been. But those words, and others, spoken in anger and frustration... They now rang clear as a bell in Antonio's mind. He was thankful he had slipped out before he managed to take a swing. He never had the best of grasp on his anger. In his earlier days, that much was all too evident. But at least he had the mind to remove himself from the situation.

If only he had kept track of where he had even stormed off to...

His thoughts scattered as his attention was suddenly drawn by two figures headed his way. At first, he thought that he had been mistaken. Many others had seemed to be nearing him, only to walk straight past. But when he glanced up, he found that his initial thought had been correct; they were indeed walking toward him - and quite briskly, at that. They held an air of authority about them, and other pedestrians seemed to either not notice them at all, or notice them all too well and deliberately dance out of their way. A quick glance to their clothing told Antonio exactly why. They were policemen.

When they stopped before him, one kept his thumb tucked into a pocket while the other stood with his hands at his sides. Antonio leaned back ever so slightly and stared at them both, blinking in the rays of the sun as they swept across his eyes. They spoke foreign words to him, but alas, Antonio could only translate two of the words; '. . . bene, singore.' He stared for a moment more, confusion lacing its way onto his features. His lips parted to answer, but the shorter of the two - the one with both hands at his sides - glanced warily to his partner. He cut the Spaniard off, speaking once again. Once again, the words were lost to him, only picking up the word 'signore'.

Slowly, Antonio shook his head, lowering his hands and straightening his back. His lips parted. "I... I don't..." The policemen glanced to one another, brows furrowed. Antonio's stomach twisted anxiously. The silent conversation they seemed to hold between them did not seem to spell good news for the traveler.

The taller breathed out a sigh, holding a hand out to Antonio, his palm facing him. He spoke again and gestured toward himself, then fell silent.

Antonio could only stare dumbly. He tried his hardest to try to find any familiar words within the quickened speech, but alas, there was nothing. He could not even begin to understand. A few words here and there, yes, but most certainly nothing that would help him grasp the situation. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, his hands shaking. Had he done something wrong...? They had said something about sleeping; he had picked up on that much. But what was it? What were they trying to tell him? Why weren't they giving him a chance to speak? Each time he tried, they only cut him off, yet they clearly expected some sort of answer from him. Unfortunately, he had nothing to give. He swallowed thickly and opened his mouth, his shoulders rigid.

He could not even get a single word out before the hand pivoted and reached out, grasping at his upper arm. He was hoisted up, a squeak leaving him without his meaning to. They spoke rapidly to one another, the shorter shaking his head and glancing to those who dared to glance in their direction. After breathing out a sigh of exasperation, the taller man took a step back and yanked Antonio forward - albeit a tad roughly. He stumbled over his feet, and the shorter made a comment. Antonio could only assume it was due to the rough handling, though he supposed it could be worse.

He could not resist. He knew that much. He had no idea what was going on, or even how they had found him, but he knew one thing; perhaps he would actually find someone who would allow him to speak, someone who knew any of the languages he spoke. Hell, even French would be better than Italian! At least he knew simple phrases in French!

Once again he was yanked forward - rougher this time - and released. He stumbled past the taller man, who then gave an extra shove to guide him forward. He could hear orders leaving the man's lips, yet he could not decipher the meaning. He could only assume he was to keep walking, and thus, he did. Apparently, he wasn't fast enough.

The taller groaned and ignored his partner's words - which sounded as though they were a warning, judging by the tone he had used - as he stepped forward. A tight grip was placed on Antonio's arm and he was yanked forward. Despite his better judgement, fear grew within Antonio.

He had, after all, just been sleeping on a bench, in the middle of a well-populated area. Perhaps he wasn't allowed to. Perhaps he had broken some unspoken rule that everyone else knew, that he was oblivious to. Perhaps Gilbert and Francis had called the police. He could feel himself stumbling as he walked, his back stiff and sore from the night before. A growing ache was forming at the tight grip on his arm. He wanted so desperately to yank it away, but alas, he could not. No. He would not.

Then a voice called out. He recognized it. His breath hitched at the rich Italian that flowed from a harsh tongue. The voice itself rung clear as a bell, deep and resonating. The r's rolled off a tongue always tucked away behind pink lips. And when Antonio turned his head, he could see the fire that such a fierce heat radiated from. But those piercing green eyes were not directed to him. They flicked between the men standing on either side of Antonio, whom had taken notice to the new arrival.

Once again, Lovino spoke, stepping forward. He seemed all too cautious, yet at the same time, almost accusing of the men in uniform.

The shorter answered his question, and Lovino sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. Finally, his eyes flicked to Antonio. The traces of false pity and minor annoyance danced within his eyes. Lovino shook his head and offered a frown. Antonio could hear an apology fall from his lips, and the taller officer released his hold. Antonio warily glanced between the three men standing around him, all too aware of how close Lovino had stepped toward him.

Lovino spoke again, this time softer, as he reached out. He took Antonio's hand and gently guided him away from the men, his voice soothing and sounding as though he was speaking to a child. The Spaniard dumbly followed, unsure of what exactly was even happening. Meanwhile, the Italian went back to speaking to the cops, his voice almost apologetic. An airy laugh left his lips.

He had never seen this side of Lovino before, but that sharp gaze sent his way told him that it was all a farce. A trick. And so, he played along, though he couldn't be sure of what he was to do. He simply just followed Lovino's guiding, sticking close to him at every sharper tug of the hand. His skin felt warm... Soft... Blood pounded through Antonio's veins and tinted his cheeks a light pink at the realization that yes - he was holding Lovino's hand.

Finally, after minutes of the Italians exchanging words, a charming smile was sent toward the officers, and what Antonio could make out as a word of gratitude. Lovino then bid farewell and began to lead the Spaniard away. After a few steps, Lovino spoke under his breath, "Follow my lead. Stumble a bit and don't say a goddamn word."

Antonio obliged, scuffing his shoe against the concrete and doing exactly as Lovino commanded. He grasped his sleeve when he was told to, tugging gently on it at the indication to do so. And with that, they exited out of one of the pathways and rounded a corner.

As soon as they had disappeared from the officers' sights, Lovino snatched his hand away from Antonio and shook off the offending hand grasping at his sleeve. His hands tucked themselves away from sight and an irritated sigh left his lips. An annoyed glance was tossed Antonio's way. "You're really damn lucky I showed up when I did, you know," he pointed out.

Antonio's eyes flicked to Lovino in curiosity, his brow furrowing. His hand still tingled with warmth from where the fingers had curled around his palm. His head was spinning from it all, his breath shallow. He felt as though he was walking on air. "What? Why?"

Lovino's lips parted to bark out a reply, but then he seemed to think better of it. The annoyance was replaced with mild curiosity, then died to silent understanding before annoyance once again came about. His lips turned down in a frown and his eyes flicked away. "Because you were about to get yourself into a lot of shit," he answered. He gestured for Antonio to follow, continuing down the narrow pathway. Antonio's footsteps echoed after him. "See, this is why you need to learn the damn language if you're goin' to be visiting, you know.

"Those cops aren't what you'd consider 'good' cops." He paused momentarily as his eyes flicked skyward, silently judging his choice of words. "Rephrase. Most of the cops in Italy don't do shit, and when they do, it's not good. Especially in Napoli. Why do you think we get let off the hook for speeding so easily? They don't do their damn jobs, that's why." Bitterness echoed within his tone, his lips turned into a permanent frown. His eyes stared ahead, refusing to give Antonio a sideways glance.

The way he spoke, it seemed as though he held a certain resentment for the police force, though Antonio couldn't be entirely sure. He could pick up the subtle traces of anger, the way the Italian seemed to spit out the words, rather than simply speak them. He knew it was not just Lovino's way of speaking. No, he was spitting out a few of the words as though they were venom - namely the simple word of 'cop'.

"So Marcello is okay. The short guy. He's... alright," Lovino continued, "But that other guy. Tch... How the fuck did you get into that mess? If I hadn't come, you'd have your ass this high in-"

"What  _did_ you do anyway?"

Lovino's hand paused right where he held it, his words failing him. He finally glanced to the one beside him, then let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right. Not Italian. Fuck, that makes things so damn complicated..." He was swearing more than usual, Antonio realized. He did have quite the mouth on him, but to be swearing as much as this... It wasn't exactly something Antonio had noticed before.

The Italian's hand dropped and he glanced beyond Antonio, as if making sure that there was no one there. Once he deemed it as safe, he continued his fast pace, turning another corner. Cars now drove by to their left as they continued down the street. "Basically, they were going to take you in for bein' drunk out of your mind. And if not drunk, then drugged. Somethin' like that," he explained quickly. "They'd find a reason to bring you back to the station, whether it's true or not. Maybe Marcello would set the record straight, but Angelo... He's the one you have to worry about. The bastard will do whatever it takes, if it means he gets to lock someone up."

Antonio's brow furrowed. He picked up his pace so he could walk beside Lovino. "How do you know all this-?"

For a moment, Lovino was silent, his lips pursed. Then slowly, he breathed out a sigh. "I've had my fair share of troubles with that guy. Let's just put it that way..." he answered carefully.

He could tell there was more to the story. But, he would not press the matter. If Lovino didn't want to tell him, it was simply just that. Rather, Antonio focused on another question. "So then... How did you get me out of that, if this Angelo guy has a stick shoved that far up?"

Lovino's lips twitched into an amused smile, but then it was gone again. "You're gonna have to promise not to be angry with me. It was the only thing I could think of at the time." He danced to the side, grabbing Antonio's arm and tugging him over as well. As soon as the Spaniard was behind him, a moped sped past before swerving back into traffic.

Antonio jogged once again to resume his place beside Lovino. "I don't think I could ever be angry with you, Lovi," he answered truthfully.

"Hm." Eyes flicked to Antonio momentarily. "First off, it's Lovino. But. I told them you were my idiot brother who's a little slow in the head." He then smirked in amusement at Antonio's bemused expression. "So maybe it wasn't so nicely put, but it got the message through. You not knowing Italian really came in handy. Because apparently they agreed."

Antonio let out an airy laugh. "I'm glad it helped, but you don't really think that of me, do you?"

Lovino smirked in return. And oh, how Antonio loved that mischievous, playful glint in his eyes... "Maybe a little," he teased, "but it got them off your ass. More importantly, what the hell were you doing there? They said you were asleep, and by the looks of it..." He glanced Antonio up and down, then frowned disapprovingly. "You haven't even changed from last night - much less showered. You look like shit."

"Well thanks Mom," Antonio answered sarcastically, though his tone was laced with amusement. He didn't miss the subtle twitch of Lovino's lips, that hidden smile. He could see it dancing in the fiery Italian's eyes. He broke his gaze away from Lovino, pressing his palms together for a moment. "I, ah... I kind of slept on the bench last night...?"

"That was stupid of you."

"And my back agrees with you." A pause, then a breath. A hand reached up to run through tousled chocolate locks. "I got into a fight. With my, uh... My friends."

Lovino glanced to Antonio out of the corner of his eye, his lips forming a thin line. "The ones you're staying with?"

Antonio nodded. "Yeah. They didn't understand what I was trying to tell them, and..." Vaguely, he wondered just how much of the story he was willing to tell. He cast a sideways glance toward Lovino, his cheeks dusting with pink. Thankfully, it seemed that Lovino was too preoccupied with glancing about the street to notice. He could not tell him what the fight was about, he decided. No... There was no way he could. His mind wouldn't allow it in the first place, not with those cruel words still echoing within... "It didn't turn out so well." He offered a sheepish smile. "I kinda got a little too angry and stormed off. I thought about going to your house-"

Lovino cut the Spaniard off with a glance, mild surprise and curiosity filling those irises. "And why didn't you?"

"It was late. You were asleep, and... I guess I didn't want to bother you...?" There was a hum in response, and those forest green eyes left him. They turned down another road, and slowly, it began to look familiar to Antonio. "But... I didn't mean to go so far, and I kinda got myself lost."

"Easy to do in this place. Big cities will do that to you."

Antonio decided to brush off the implications behind those words, deeming them as unimportant. "So I kinda just... fell asleep on the bench. I was too tired to go anywhere, and I didn't want to get myself even more lost."

"And once again. That was stupid of you," Lovino echoed his words from before.

Another corner and Antonio could recognize the quaint little flower shop he had passed during his walk with Lovino the first day. Yes, he knew exactly where he was now. Only a few more blocks and the Italian's house would come into view. Wait... His steps faltered for a moment, his gaze darting to Lovino. No way. He was not leading him back to his house. No way was that happening. Things like that didn't just... happen.

But the questioning glance backward told him that it was. He jogged a few steps to catch up, an amused smile spreading across his lips. "Aww, Lovi, why didn't you tell me you were taking me back to your house~? That's so sweet of you!" he teased.

A faint tinge of pink spread across Lovino's cheeks. That, Antonio definitely could not miss. His lips turned down into a frown as his brow furrowed. He seemed to shrink in on himself, his shoulders hunching ever so slightly. "Of course I am, you idiot. You haven't showered, you've been wearing the same damn clothes for two days straight - though I did wash them for you so I guess it's not too bad - and I very highly doubt you want to go back to your friends, judgin' by how you were talkin' about them just now," he listed matter-of-factly. He then huffed and glanced to the one beside him once again. "Seriously, I'm a lot smarter than that. If you wanted to go back, you would've mentioned that earlier."

So he had picked up on something even Antonio hadn't realized himself. It was the truth; he didn't want to go back. Not yet... Those words still stung, they still held tightly onto his heart. Sure, he had thought about going back earlier, but that was due to having a lack of anywhere else to go. To think that even Lovino had picked up on something like that... He was surely a lot more observant of the Spaniard than he gave him credit for.

The corners of his lips pulled up into a gentle smile. "Thank you, Lovino. Really," he spoke. He would return later, he decided. But as of right now, he wanted to forget that argument. He wanted to forget the heated exchange of words, the enraged look in Francis's eyes when Antonio shot back an all-too-painful remark. And what better way than to spend yet another day with Lovino? His last day, he quietly reminded himself.

A grumbled response was the only one he received, and the two fell into a silent walk. They rounded another corner, and in the distance, Antonio could see the tall fence of Lovino's patio. He breathed out the breath he hadn't realized he had begun holding. Vaguely, he wondered if this would be the last time he would see it... The thought saddened him. He did not want to leave this place. Even with the thought of someday returning, it still weighed heavily on his heart. Because who knew when he would have the time, let alone the money, to return to such a beautiful place...

A beautiful, wonderful, exciting, place where fantasies seemed to come true... Where angels stood atop balconies, under the gentle rays of the moon... Where two souls caught up in the moment danced away under that same gentle light, the sand beneath their bare feet and the music surrounding them... Where laughter filled the air, only to be interrupted by taunting jests and playful remarks... Where home lay within the eyes of tranquil green, fiery amber, and mysterious brown... It was no wonder, Antonio mused, that all three colours could be found within Lovino's eyes, for that was exactly what he was made of.

His thoughts fled from him as he felt skin brush across his own. A tingling sensation spread from the back of his hand, traveling up his arm and warming him. A quick glance down told him all he needed to know; his hand had brushed against Lovino's, though it seemed that the Italian took no notice of it. Antonio pursed his lips as he pondered the possibilities swarming his mind, taking note of the close proximity between the two appendages. He glanced to Lovino, but the Italian kept his gaze away, lost within the depths of his own thoughts. He seemed so far away, yet he was right there beside him. Antonio wanted proof of that...

Timidly, he reached out. Fingers extended and his wrist pulled back. His heart pounding wildly in his chest, his thoughts mixed together in a cacophony of words and yet chanting the same phrase in unison. His breath caught in his throat, his world melting away around him. He could not feel the gentle wind as it caressed his skin. He could not feel the gentle beads of sweat at his brow, nor the rays of the sun warming him. His fingers were less than a centimeter away. He could feel the warmth of Lovino's skin, yet he could not feel the softness of it just yet.

Then it was gone. Hidden away within a pocket. The world came crashing in around him. The sun was once again unbearably hot. The brown locks were uncomfortably plastered to his forehead. The wind did little to cool his body, to steady the quickened rhythm of his heart. His gaze flicked up to show that Lovino was not looking toward him. Instead, those eyes were focused on the fast-approaching house; their destination.

He too, pulled his hand away, fingers curling toward his palm. He wondered if Lovino had perhaps sensed what was going to happen, but he could only assume that he didn't. After all, how could someone know if they did not so much as glance toward the one walking beside them? He breathed out a silent sigh of defeat and dismissed the thoughts from his brain, letting the silence settle in around him.

That is, until Lovino spoke. "You can use my shower as soon as we get inside. I'll bring you a spare change of clothes and leave them outside for you. I think I have some old clothes I won't care about gettin' rid of." He glanced to Antonio, then focused his gaze back to the house. "When are you leaving Italia?"

He did not want to answer that. Oh, how he wished he didn't have to... But, it had to be answered, and answered truthfully. "Tomorrow," Antonio answered carefully.

Lovino's lips drew together and for a moment, he was silent. And Antonio could've sworn his steps had faltered, his gaze wavering momentarily. But as soon as he had caught it, it was gone again. A calm expression instantly took over the Italian's features, though his eyes were a storm. "What time is your flight?"

That was a good question... Antonio drew his brow together as he pondered over it. A few numbers dashed through his head until he finally found the one he was looking for. "Three," he replied quietly. "The plane leaves at three." Oh, but there was still more to it... He would be waiting around for a while before his flight. He glanced to Lovino. "I have to leave the hotel at noon. Or else we have to pay for another day."

Lovino nodded in understanding. "Yeah, hotels are tricky like that... So what're you going to be doing?"

Antonio couldn't help but to question Lovino's sudden curiosity. But, he supposed, they were friends. (Perhaps.) And it was a conversation topic. So no wonder it had to be asked... He breathed out a sigh through his head, shaking his head. "I don't know," he answered truthfully, "We didn't really plan anything out. We have to be at the airport by two, so it doesn't really give us enough time to really... do anything." He cast a suspicious glance to Lovino, studying his expression. It was carefully guarded, so masterfully woven together. He could not find the truth behind it, though he felt that the calmness was too unsettling to be the entire picture. "Why do you ask?"

Lovino shook his head. "No reason. Just curious," he replied. The answer came a little too casually. He slowed as they came to the gate, opening it and walking through before Antonio. He retrieved a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, pulling that open as well. "We're drinking tonight," he announced as he deposited the key in its respective place.

Antonio could only stare in surprise.

"I have some... really good wine in the cabinet. One of the best, if I do say so myself. A... friend of the family owns the vineyard it comes from," Lovino continued, "I can get drinks cheap from there, and you don't want to go back yet, so... If you're up for it..." He trailed off as his eyes warily glanced to his guest.

The Spaniard couldn't help the small smile that wound onto his lips. Oh, but it didn't stay small. No, it grew, until he was grinning. Excitedly, he nodded. "Of course!" he spoke - perhaps a little too chipperly. It seemed to throw the Italian off guard, thus Antonio instantly toned it down. "I mean. Sí. Sí, I'd love to."

Lovino breathed out, though it was not in a sigh, Antonio noted. His shoulders relaxed and he glanced away. "Good. Good..." Then came out the sigh. An Italian phrase slipped past his lips in a mumble, a hand raking through dark auburn locks. They only fell right back into place.

Then a thought occurred to Antonio; how would he be able being intoxicated around him? He already found him beautiful, that much was certain. But after seeing him that first night while drunk on the beach, and his most recent realization about the Italian... Would being alone really be such a great idea? His smile fell away. "Lovino...?" he spoke timidly. Green eyes flicked to him in curiosity and anxious anticipation. He offered an apologetic smile. "I would... love to have drinks with you, but, ah... Do you really think it's a good-"

"If I didn't want you to have some of it, I wouldn't have offered," Lovino instantly cut in, a tad louder than what Antonio had expected him to be. Upon realizing his mistake. Lovino quieted and turned away from the door. He worked on removing his shoes. "I told you; I get wine for cheap from there. And it's just been sittin' there in the cabinet. I haven't touched it. So..."

He was flattered. Truly, he was. But alas, there was no way he could allow it. Not after all the trouble Lovino had already gone through... Brow furrowing, he stepped forward and extended a hand to Lovino as the younger stood. "No, no, I can't, I-"

Lovino cut him off with a glance. That fire still burned brightly, but it was not as harsh, not as dangerous. It was gentle. "Please," he spoke quietly.

It was uncharacteristic of him, and Antonio almost thought to pinch himself in case he was still asleep, back there on that bench. But he refrained from doing so - at least, until Lovino glanced away once more. The Italian's hands curled into loose fists. His breathing seemed unsteady, almost forced. And then Antonio realized - he was trembling. Lovino was shaking, his brow creased and a storm raging wildly within his eyes. And for a moment, just a brief moment, Antonio could see fear.

"I don't care, alright? I just... Goddamnit, just shut up and take the damn offer. I won't say it again."

Antonio stared for a brief moment, his mind trying to process exactly what he was seeing. Slowly, he nodded. "Alright," he answered, his voice much quieter than what he was used to.

Lovino glanced to him, hope breaking through the storm for a fraction of a second.

"If that's what you want to do, then... alright."

That was all the answer he needed to give. Lovino's fingers uncurled themselves as his shoulders relaxed. He glanced away, once again running a hand through his hair. But he said nothing more on the matter, not for another moment. He glanced down to Antonio's feet, then up the stairs. "Go ahead and uh... Go ahead and shower. The upstairs one. The one downstairs isn't as good, so... Anyway, uh, I'll get the clothes," he spoke. "We'll have drinks when you get out." And he was gone, racing up the stairs. Bare feet thudded against each wooden step as a hand trailed up the railing, Antonio watching after him.

For a moment, all he could do was stand there and stare, watching as Lovino disappeared to the second level. And only when he was gone did his lips crack into a thin smile. Not only had he been invited for a drink, but he had also been invited to stay. Lovino had invited him, and then even argued for his position on it... Antonio laughed breathlessly. As he removed his shoes, he wondered if this would be considered a date. A part of him hoped so. A date with Lovino... His smile only grew. He knew that it wasn't; it couldn't possibly be, after all. If it was, the Italian would have said. While he certainly did keep to himself on plenty of matters, he certainly was not the kind to trick someone else into something like this. Thus, if it had been a date, he would have said so.

Chuckling to himself, Antonio padded his way up the stairs, briefly glancing through the crack in the door to see Lovino rummaging through his dresser. He decided it was not the best to spy on him, however, and quickly darted into the bathroom. The door clicked into place behind him and he exhaled. He had no idea why it felt like he had been sneaking past the Italian; Lovino already knew of how Antonio was off to shower.

Nonetheless, Antonio didn't allow himself to think on it for too long. He had his reasons, whether they were known to him or not.

He shed himself of his clothes and retrieved a towel from the cabinet. When he finally stepped into the shower itself, he had made sure the water would be warm; warm enough to relax his muscles. He needed it, he realized, and now he understood why Lovino had guided him to the upstairs bathroom. While he was unsure of how the shower was downstairs, the one he stood under was certainly relaxing. The way the water poured from the showerhead was reminiscent to a massage, almost, though he knew that an actual one would be a lot more relaxing. He breathed deeply to inhale the steam that began to fill the room, letting it sit in his lungs for a moment before breathing it. With that breath, he let all thoughts scatter from his mind. The memories from the night before fled with them, leaving him with a feeling of peace.

He kept his shower short. His host was waiting for him, after all, and he already felt guilty enough for using up the water the day before. It was quite the strange thought, he mused, that in the beginning, Lovino wanted nothing to do with him (and with good reason), but now, he was one of the most hospitable people Antonio had ever had the pleasure of meeting. As he stepped out of the shower, enjoying the mist all around, he let a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. It was quite the progress, and to be entirely truthful, he could hardly believe it hadn't even been a week. It felt like so long ago... Ages...

Yet, at the same time, it was all in the blink of an eye, every detail so vivid and fresh in his mind.

No. No, now was not the time to think of that. He had other things to worry about. Such as, once again, his host. He breathed out a sigh through his nostrils, green eyes flicking to the bathroom door momentarily. No doubt, the clothes had already been dropped off for him. Well, there was only one way to find out.

Steam escaped through the crack as he carefully pulled the door open just a fraction, just enough to where he could peer out without being seen. His eyes didn't have to travel far, for there, in a small basket, were folded clothes. He glanced up, and upon finding no sign of Lovino, swung the door open wider to pull the clothes inside - all while using the towel to cover himself. As soon as the basket was inside, the door was swung closed. He was careful not to let it slam shut.

He would have just pulled the clothes unceremoniously out of the basket, if it weren't for the note that caught his eye, resting atop the folded pile. Curious, he set the basket down upon the counter and picked up the note. The letters - slightly slanted to the right - were neater than he would have expected, with arching curves and taller letters.

'Just leave the towel in here, and leave the basket in the bathroom. I'll pick it up later,' it read. And at the bottom right corner, it was signed with the letter L, written in stylized cursive.

He stared for a moment longer, then allowed for his eyes to flick to the clothes. He set the paper down on the counter, dried himself, and pulled on the clothes gifted to him; a blue hoodie with the word 'ITALIA' written across the front, and a pair of simple jeans to accompany it. It was simple, yet comfortable, and Antonio quite liked it. The hoodie, however... it was amusing to the Spaniard. He recalled Lovino's words, taking note of how the other had mentioned he had clothes he didn't mind getting rid of. Would this, Antonio mused, be one of those clothes? It would be a rather tourist-like action to return from Italy with a hoodie that bore the name of the aforementioned country.

Depositing the towel into the basket and pocketing the slip of paper, the brunet left the bathroom, leaving the door open to allow it to air out. Lovino was right; the shower had helped his back. He could feel the muscles; feel how they didn't tug so sharply at his bones. While it still felt stiff, he no longer felt the pain that radiated from it. He would have to be sure to thank him, he reminded himself. He padded along the hall, and as he traveled down the stairs, a delicious, warm scent wafted to his nose. He breathed in deeply, curiosity filling him. As he neared the bottom of the steps and rounded the corner, he could hear the sizzling of the pan, the scent of cooking meat and mushrooms becoming distinguishable.

But before he could enter the kitchen, his eyes fixed on Lovino's back, it seemed that the Italian had become aware of his presence.

Green eyes glanced over a shoulder as his cooking paused, filled with mild curiosity and surprise. "Oh," he spoke, his tone flat at first, "I didn't expect you to be out already." A small pause, and he glanced back to his work. "Feel better?"

Antonio smiled and stepped forward, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame the mess of curls atop his head. "Much," he answered truthfully. "Gracias." He earned a grunt in acknowledgement, but nothing more than that. He stepped forward again, craning his neck in an attempt to see what was cooking inside the pan on the stove. "What're you cooking? It smells delicious!"

"Of course it smells delicious," Lovino retorted, "I'm the one cooking it." He made an effort to place himself between Antonio and the pan, much to the Spaniard's confusion, and glanced over his shoulder once more. He reached for the pile of meat at his side, adding more to the pan. "I'm cooking dinner," he finally responded. "I know it's early, but y'know what? I don't care. I'm frickin' starving."

Wow. Dinner. Again. It truly was unbelievable, in such a pleasant way. His smile became more sincere, with a touch of apologetic mixed within. "You really don't have to, Lovino-" Before he could even finish the three-syllable name, Lovino spoke up to cut him off.

"Have you eaten today?"

"¿Qué?"

Lovino let out an exasperated sigh. "I'll take that as a no," he assumed on his own. He kept himself between Antonio and the food, no matter how much the Spaniard tried to lean around him. He even reached up and waved the spatula threateningly when the older came too close. "I'm cookin' dinner. You've been out all day; I doubt you've eaten a single damn thing. So you better eat all of it, you hear?"

A chuckle slipped past Antonio, before it bubbled into a short laugh. "Alright, Mom," he teased, only to receive a glare in warning. And as soon as Lovino turned away again, he moved swiftly. He reached around the Italian, into the pan, and snatched out a pinch of its contents; meat, it seemed. He ignored the Italian profanity pouring from the man before him, dancing away from the spatula as it waved wildly. He gave a wide grin and quickly ate the piece of meat he had managed to steal. Oh, it was so delicious. It burned his tongue, as he should have assumed by the way it heated his fingers, but oh, it was so worth it.

Lovino, however, wasn't so pleased with the outcome, a frown decorating his lips. He let out a loud sigh and shook his head, turning away again. He grumbled something about a child, though Antonio didn't quite catch it. After stirring the contents once more, he gestured to the living room with the spatula. "Dinner will be done soon. That wine I was talkin' about is already in the living room. I'll bring it out when it's done. Now go before I beat you in the head with this spatula," he ordered.

Antonio complied. The wonderful taste of spiced meat still lingered on his taste buds as he fled from the kitchen, across the hall, and into the living room. Sure enough, there was the wine, sitting peacefully atop the coffee table. On either side of said bottle, two glasses stood tall and proud. The living room itself, he realized, was bathed in an orange and red glow, reflecting the colours that streaked across the sky. That stormy night flashed in the back of his mind, and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. Silently, he reminded himself that Lovino was alright; he was perfectly fine. Perhaps a bit irritated due to the stolen food, but he was not hiding. He was not crying. He was fine.

He placed himself down on the couch and leaned back, eyes flicking to the wine. It took all his will not to let his curiosity rein him. This was not his house, he had to remind himself. This was not a wine he had purchased himself. This was Lovino's house, and Lovino had purchased that bottle of wine. He had no say in the matter, even if he knew what it was. Not that he minded. He had tried very many different types of wines in his youth, and while Spanish wine would always hold a special place in his heart, he enjoyed tasting the other varieties that could be found within the world.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts as soon as he heard muted footsteps draw near, eyes flicking to the source to see Lovino walking directly toward him with two plates, one in each hand. Atop those plates, Antonio realized, were two sandwiches. His mouth watered at the very sight, his stomach hollering to take a bite. But oh, it wasn't even close enough yet.

A snicker came from Lovino as he placed himself beside Antonio, handing one plate to the Spaniard. An amused smile played along his lips. "If that's not the look of a frickin' dog, I don't know what is," he spoke. "Seriously, how long has it been since you've eaten? You look like you haven't eaten in days, santo cielo..."

Antonio was already taking his first bite of the sandwich when he heard the question. His eyes flicked to Lovino and he took a moment to chew and swallow. As he remained silent during this time, he let his mind wander, rewinding back the past two days until he finally came to his answer. "Yesterday," he admitted, "when I was with you." He took another bite, pulling his eyes away. Lovino, too, was starting his own sandwich. "The, uh... The fight sort of happened as soon as I got home yesterday, so..." He could feel eyes on him, but he did not meet Lovino's gaze.

It was Lovino who decided to tear his eyes away, hand reaching for the bottle. He popped open the top - it seemed that he had already recorked it for ease of access, judging by the corkscrew lying near the bottle - and poured a glass. He handed it over to the one beside him. "Well thank God I found you when I did. Not only would you probably be at the station right now, but you'd be wastin' away there," he pointed out with amusement lacing into his words.

Antonio let out an airy laugh as he took the glass offered to him. A grin was tossed Lovino's way. "Sí, I would've been! Muchos gracias!" He drew the glass to his lips, and after only a moment's hesitance, he took a sip. It was sweet, but the distinct bitterness of this particular variety of alcohol was still very much obvious. It warmed his mouth and throat as it traveled down to his stomach. He hummed in appreciation. It accompanied the sandwich so well, it seemed. "Wow. It's good." When he glanced to Lovino, he could see the traces of curiosity dancing in eyes that seemed to capture him so, no matter what time of day.

A timid hand reached for the second glass, and Lovino poured himself a portion. He returned the bottle to its original position and carefully took a sip of his own. He nodded. "Sì, it is," he agreed. He then nestled back against the cushions, taking another sip of his drink.

The Spaniard, however, didn't take his eyes off the one next to him, for a thought had occurred to him. Lovino had mentioned earlier that he often bought drinks from where this one had come from. He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you get this kind often?"

Lovino shook his head. "This kind? No. From that vineyard? Yes," he corrected. "This one, I haven't tried before. It has more alcohol content than I'm used to."

Well. That was interesting. His brows furrowed as he set the glass down, to replace it with the sandwich. "Is that why you haven't opened it?" he questioned curiously. He took a bite of his delicious meal. If Lovino wasn't siting right there, he would probably moan at the way the tastes of the cheese, meat, and mushrooms melted in his mouth. But of course, there was no way he could do something like that in front of the Italian.

The answer came a little later than Antonio had expected. "No," Lovino spoke, almost quietly. He kept his eyes away from the other. "I just... didn't have anyone to drink it with. My brother was supposed to come down and drink it. But he went... somewhere else."

That troubled gaze... Antonio's lips formed a thin line. He did not want to press. No, not on his own. He had heard Lovino speak of his brother on many occasions. It was more than obvious that Lovino held such a dear love for his younger sibling. But judging by just that, they weren't always on such great terms - even in the present day. It was rather reminiscent... It almost made him smile. But alas, he made sure not to, not wanting to give Lovino the wrong impression. He offered a gentler smile, putting down the sandwich long enough to reach over. He gave the Italian's shoulder a compassionate squeeze as green eyes flicked to him. He said nothing, hoping instead that this single action was enough.

His hand retreated and he continued eating, catching the gentle smile Lovino returned - though the Italian tried to hide it behind his glass by taking a sip. His heart swelled with pride at the sheer thought of being the cause for a smile to grace his angel's lips. Lovino was not one he wanted to see crying. He wanted to see him laughing, see him smiling. Grinning, smirking, laughing, smiling... It didn't matter; he wanted to see joy on the other's face. He wanted to hear that beautiful laugh from last night, that same laugh that echoed in his mind, even now.

He instantly shoved the thought aside. As much as he wanted to hear it, he could not expect to hear it. He could not expect to make the Italian laugh constantly, no matter he wished for it. He was but a simple man and while they were not strangers, they certainly were not close friends. He could only wonder, as he looked to Lovino out of the corner of his eye, just what Lovino possibly thought of him. He wanted to know the depths of the other's mind, to know of the thoughts that swam so deeply in his mind. The man was a mystery. While some things could be seen like an open book, there were so many others that he just... could not figure out, for the life of him, no matter how hard he tried.

His thoughts fled from him as he heard the other's voice. "It's too quiet in here," the Italian noted. When Antonio looked to him, he realized that the other was looking away from him, his gaze instead focused on another part of the room. The wine glass and the plate were both set on the coffee table, and Lovino stood with a heavy sigh. "You don't mind music, do you?" he questioned, glancing to his side.

Antonio almost replied instantly. Of course he wouldn't mind music! If anything, he mused, perhaps another scene such as the night before would occur again. But he bit back his tongue, knowing full well that he could not voice such thoughts. No, that would not be the smartest idea. Contrary to popular belief, he actually did have a brain within that head of his, and he did know how to go with his better judgment for certain instances. So instead, he grinned and shook his head. "No, I don't mind! Go ahead," he answered, waving his hand in the direction of the Italian.

Giving a nod and rubbing his hands together momentarily, Lovino strode across the room. He squatted down near the fireplace, where a bag rested. He retrieved the small stereo from the night before, placing it down on the wooden floor. After pressing a few buttons and fiddling with the tuner, he zoned in on the station he was looking for and stood again. Soft music flowed from the speakers and Lovino, satisfied with his decision, returned to his spot to eat again.

Antonio looked to the other in mild amusement, picking up absolutely none of the lyrics that came to his ears. "But you know, Lovi," he spoke, "I thought you didn't like visitors." It was something that he had heard the other say the day before. It had been the whole reason they had left for the beach in the first place, if he actually recalled the events correctly.

He watched as olive cheeks flushed red. Brows furrowed and a frown spread across Lovino's lips. Sharp eyes glanced to the side, meeting Antonio's for a brief moment. "I needed the company, alright?" he retorted, his shoulders much too stiff.

Something about the way he spoke told Antonio that the other wasn't exactly telling him the full truth. His words were much too sharp, his eyes too skeptical. He was careful and calculating, almost defensive. Antonio didn't even realize the amused smirk that curled up on his own lips at the sight.

Lovino, on the other hand, had noticed. His cheeks flushed darker and he instantly glanced away. "Shut up."

"I didn't say anything," Antonio pointed out, the amusement growing in him.

Lovino's cheeks darkened, the frown deepening. "I know, just- Fuckin' hell, just shut up!" he repeated. He then decided to make his point by taking a large bite of his sandwich.

A laugh came from Antonio at the sight, and only grew when the blush spread to Lovino's ears. He doubled over in the laughter, ignoring the Italian curses that poured from Lovino. "Oh d-dios mio-!" he stuttered, breathless as he laughed, "you look like a little tomato!"

"I do not! I'm not a  _ **tomato**_!"

"You sure... You sure do l-look like... like one-!"

"God, you're so annoying! You're the Tomato Bastard here, not me! Shut up already!"

Oh, but he didn't. Not until a few moments later, when his laughter finally died down again. Lovino guzzled down what was left of his glass of wine, threatening to break it atop of the Spaniard's head as he poured another glass. But those threats died down with the laughter, and Antonio looked to Lovino with joy dancing in his eyes. "Really, though. You aren't telling me the truth, Lovi." He ignored the glare shot toward him, knowing full well it was for the nickname. Did he care? Of course not.

Lovino breathed out a sigh and continued eating his sandwich. "And what makes you think, exactly," he spoke between aggravated bites, "that I'm lyin' to you?"

"You know," a beat, "you're not very good at speaking your mind, Lovino."

The Italian's breath hitched for a moment. He froze mid-bite, eyes flicking to Antonio momentarily. Fear hid deep within that storm, beyond the fire. He finished his bite and swallowed, letting the silence fall in around them - save for the music, of course. He lowered the sandwich - nearly gone by now - and pressed his lips together, into a thin line. His gaze flicked away. "No," he answered truthfully, "No, I'm not." He was silent for a moment before he finally took another bite, leaving only one left. "I never have been. That's the thing about me. My brother's the exact oppos-"

"You really need to stop comparing yourself to your brother," Antonio interjected. The words had left his lips without his meaning to. He hadn't realized until that moment that such words were so irritating to him. Sure, he liked hearing of Lovino's brother, hearing of the relationship between the two. But to hear Lovino being put down every single time the other mentioned his sibling... It was painful, in a way. His own meal was left forgotten in his lap as he spoke again, "You're your own person. If you keep comparing yourself to others, Lovino... People are only going to see that. They're not going to see who you are, but who others are."

Lovino scrutinized him for a moment, before a frown tugged at his lips. "And who says that anyone's interested in who I am, ah? My brother's got a lot more goin' for him than I do."

And there it was. The resentment. No... More like, the sibling rivalry. The envy. The overall thought process of 'of course they're better'. "And who are you to judge that?"

Lovino's gaze flicked away. His eyes screamed the answers, but the words were lost in translation. They did not slip past the Italian's lips, thus they were left unknown to Spaniard.

Antonio's gaze softened. He glanced down, eyes landing on the hand that curled around the edge of the plate. ... Perhaps... He steeled himself as he took in a deep breath. Slowly, carefully, he reached forward. "I think you have a lot more to you than you think, Lovino..." he voiced gently. His fingers brushed against Lovino's hand, and carefully, he curled them around the soft appendage.

From where Antonio sat, he could see Lovino's chest still. His breathing had stopped. His eyes stared down to the food in his lap, and when he finally breathed out, he pulled his hand away to lift the plate from his lap. He set it on the coffee table, saying nothing of the hand that had been placed on his own. "You really don't understand, do you?"

"No, I don't," Antonio spoke sincerely, "but I do know that you're a lot more than you think you are." He retracted his hand, understanding fully his mistake. It was stupid, to think that such affection would be accepted. He returned to his own sandwich, not quite enjoying the silence that settled between them.

In that silence, he watched Lovino out of the corner of his eye. The Italian was halfway through his second glass, and held it thoughtfully in his hands. He twirled it every now and then, eyes flicking down to watch the liquid. Anger was not what Antonio saw. He saw careful contemplation. He could see the mental debates, the unspoken arguments floating around. He knew not the words, but he recognized the look.

Finally, Lovino spoke up again. "My brother was supposed to drink with me," he repeated. "As I said. He's not here. You want to know why?" He didn't give Antonio a chance to answer. He jumped straight to the answer. "Because he's in Germany - with his boyfriend. In the past year alone, he's been in Germany more than he has Italy. I hardly ever see him anymore. Ever since he met that damn bastard, he's been wasting all his money on visiting him.

"We had plans to drink this for his birthday, back in March. That didn't happen."

Antonio fell silent. Now he understood the reasoning behind wanting to get rid of it. But as to whether or not Lovino actually enjoyed company, well... He did not know the answer to that. He finished his sandwich and deposited his plate onto the coffee table.

"Don't get me wrong. He's a good kid. But damnit, he's not perfect, and everybody fuckin' acts like it. Everyone always thinks he can't go wrong." He then paused, eyes flicking to Antonio. "I know. A lot of this is comin' from my irritation at him for not coming to see me when he said he would. I don't need another person telling me that, so don't even open that stupid mouth of yours."

Lovino's eyes flicked away again. "Yeah. I lied. So what? So I guess here's the damn truth: I wanted to go to the beach, alright? I might live right next to it, but I don't go all the time. I don't have the time. Rephrase: I didn't have the time. I'm not one for opening up, and I know that. But damnit, I have my own reasons."

Ah. Well... This all made too much sense. Antonio offered an apologetic smile. "Lo siento. I didn't mean to upset you with that, I just-"

"I'm not done," Lovino cut in. His hands were trembling, sweat beading on his forehead - and it was not from the heat. He sipped away at his wine, breathing deeply to calm himself. Leaning back against the couch, he continued, "He does have a lot more goin' for him. That's not just me bein' angry. I fucked up a hell of a lot more than you know. And my brother, he's the perfect little angel who never did anything his brother did. So don't fucking argue with me when I say he's got a lot more goin' for him - because damnit, he does."

He was stunned into silence. He hadn't expected such a reaction. But somehow, it wasn't angry. There was frustration, but there wasn't anger. There was no ill will directed to anyone, whether it was Lovino's brother or Antonio. Antonio stared for a moment, taking his own wine into his hands. He wanted to apologize again, but he knew there was nothing he could do. He couldn't apologize, it would do no good. He could not expect to fix Lovino, or change his mental process. And damnit, he didn't know where to even begin.

It seemed that the Italian still wasn't done. He glanced toward Antonio, then focused back on his quickly-diminishing wine. He took another sip - though it was much more of a gulp than a sip. "I fucked up... so bad. I regret everything, but shit... There was... so much I've done," he mumbled. He raked a hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh. Emotions swam in his eyes, conflicting with one another. He chose his next words carefully, "I never told you why I was running from those guys. When we first met..."

Antonio remembered that moment, clear as day. He had thought that Lovino simply had somewhere to be, and while that was partly true, it was mainly due to fleeing - something he had found out shortly after literally running into him. He had always been curious, but to ask him... Well, that was another story. He could never do it, and frankly, he did not need anything more than what he had already been told. But alas, it seemed that Lovino was already speaking. The dam had broken, and there was no fixing it anytime soon.

"It's stupid..." Lovino muttered, downing the rest of his second glass and pouring his third. Antonio wanted to stop him, but alas, it was too late. The third glass was already poured, held within in his hands. "I've kinda wanted to tell you, but damn. I don't even know where to start. But damnit, you deserve to know, because I don't know if I've pulled you into it or not...

"Remember how I mentioned Angelo was trouble?"

The Spaniard nodded, attracting the gaze of Lovino for a brief second.

"He and I have a... history together, I guess you can say," he spoke carefully, "He was an officer in Rome at first. I ran away from home when I was a teenager, and went to Rome first. I got into some... bad business there. It wasn't the mafia, but... I guess you could say it was close." His voice had quieted to a near-whisper, almost too quiet to be heard over the soft music of the radio. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he held the glass in both hands. A frown was etched onto his lips, tugging the corners of his lips downwards. Emotions swirled in his eyes, fighting one another for dominance.

For a moment, Antonio thought that Lovino's story ended there, that he thought better of it. But when he parted his lips, he realized that was not the case. Lovino was simply having troubles finding the right words.

Finally, after downing another sip, Lovino spoke up again, "Angelo put me behind bars a few times. Some charges were false, some true. I moved to Palermo, and damn, I saw some... horrible things..." He breathed out and ran a shaking hand through his hair once again.

He fought for the words to say. "It wasn't pretty... I did some pretty nasty jobs..." He cringed, and Antonio could see the traces of a memory dancing in his eyes. Lovino shook it off, however. "But. I digress... Those guys you ran into, they were former coworkers of mine. They claimed I... still owed them... for their help." He chose his words carefully, avoiding Antonio's gaze. The way he spoke, it was all too obvious he was leaving out so much more detail of the accounts.

The Spaniard could understand. Something like this wasn't so easily spoken of. He wanted to console the other, but alas, he was not given a chance.

Lovino's gaze met his, sharp and determined. "I'm not into that anymore. The moment my brother found me, I left. I paid my debts, and I left. I was..." He looked away again, focusing instead on the wine in his hands. "I was terrified. I thought they saw his face... Knew I had a brother. They didn't, thankfully, but..." He shook his head. "Nevermind. Point is... Those guys were chasin' me, because I fucked my life up. As I said. My brother's a hell of a lot more deserving of lo- his current life than I am."

He still wasn't convinced. He didn't expect any more details, and frankly, he didn't even need that much spoken. But rather, he was not convinced of the main point behind the entire speech. Antonio stared for a moment before he let out yet another sigh. He took a sip of his wine, finally finishing off his first glass. "Lovino," he spoke. He was careful not to put a single ounce of negativity in the name. It was a simple word, a calling of sorts.

When green eyes flicked to him, hesitant and fearful, he gave a frown. "You really think I care?" Wait. That came out wrong. He mentally cursed himself, quickly adding on. "I've gotten myself into a lot of trouble when I was younger. Gilbert, Francis, and I have had our fair share of time behind bars," he recounted. His eyes flicked away. "I've done things I regret, too... I hurt someone. Really...  _really_  bad... Not physically, but... emotionally, I hurt her. And that's the worst kind of pain... Wounds heal. Mental scars don't..." And oh, was it too true. He knew full well of the pain he had caused, and the guilt still weighed on his heart.

Even now, it was trying to consume him, now that he had even just mentioned it briefly. But he fought against it. He tried his hardest to absolutely ignore, but oh, it was so hard... He instead decided to focus on something a little more solid, something that was right before him - Lovino. His eyes flicked to the other and he offered a smile. "Point is... We've all done things we regret. That's life for you. It only makes you human," he pointed out. "I'm sure your brother, too, has things he regrets. You just don't know it, because you're not in his mind. You don't hear what his thoughts are telling him."

Lovino stared for a moment. Emotion swam through his eyes before he finally let out a breath and looked away once more. He did not answer.

Antonio watched as Lovino set down the glass and gathered up the plates, watching him leave the room. He had done wrong. He could see that now. He had spoken out of turn, and now he was paying the price for it. He had messed up - greatly. He knew he was good at that... But to this extent? He thought perhaps that he had gotten his point across. Apparently not...

He held his glass in one hand as he held his head in his other. He let his eyes slide closed, his brows furrowing together. He shouldn't have even spoken up. Maybe he shouldn't even be here. No, he should be back at the hotel, spending time with his friends. But ah... They wouldn't enjoy his company, not after their argument from the night before. It was rather disheartening, to be honest, and he didn't know if he could face them. Especially not like this... He could feel the tingling effects of the alcohol, as little as they were.

Then he felt warmth at his side. He hadn't even heard the footsteps approaching, much less the cushions shifting as Lovino sat down. But he could feel a weight against him, feel arms wrapped loosely, hesitantly, around him. His head shot up at the realization, and when he looked to the side, he was met with the sight of auburn locks. A head rested against his shoulder and the arms tightened ever so slightly.

In response, he transferred his empty glass to his right hand and carefully slid his left arm between their bodies and out the other side. He returned the hug, hesitant and unsure of himself. But when it tightened again, he gave a reassuring squeeze and, without thinking about it, leaned down to kiss the top of Lovino's head.

That was when the Italian pulled away, unwrapping his arms from the Spaniard. Keeping his eyes away from Antonio, he picked up the wine glass he had placed down and began sipping away again. His eyes showed he careful contemplation once more, though it seemed to not be as troubled as before. His posture was once more relaxed and, as Antonio had noticed the day before, shy. He was curled up in his spot, his feet pulled up onto the cushions. He held the glass with both hands and his gaze stayed fixated forward, yet staring at nothing at the same time. A light pink tinge coloured his cheeks.

He was, in all forms of the word, beautiful. The golden glow had faded as the sun had set beyond the sea, but the glow from the lamps made his skin glow all the same. It was a gentle light, and it was a comforting one. Like that of home, Antonio realized.

The Spaniard's posture relaxed as he caught himself staring toward the Italian. But he did not look away. After a moment, their eyes met, Lovino nervously glancing over.

Lovino's shoulders stiffened, his eyes widening a fraction. The colour on his cheeks only intensified. He groaned and glanced away, one hand leaving his glass to reach to his side, opposite Antonio.

Once moment, Antonio was entirely confused as to what the Italian was doing. The next, he knew all too well. For soon after he had given Lovino a questioning look, his world turned black and a softness was pressed against his face. He nearly dropped the glass in his hand, fumbling to catch both it and the pillow that Lovino had released. It all came crystal clear to him; Lovino had just shoved a pillow into his face.

Antonio let out a laugh, which was met with a groan of annoyance and the roll of eyes. He ignored it and set the glass down, reaching for the pillow in his lap. With a grin, he shoved it forward, smacking Lovino in the shoulder with it.

Lovino looked to Antonio, bemused. His eyes flicked from his guest's face, to the pillow, to his face again. Then realization dawned in his eyes. They widened, and then narrowed. A fire burned brightly within those eyes. "You did not."

"And what if I did?" The answer was given without missing a single beat.

Lovino's eyes narrowed dangerously. The fire sparked back to life, as bright and wild as ever. Antonio almost feared it would burn him, right then and there. But instead, it was directed away from him, and a nonchalant mask was thrown up. Lovino rolled his shoulders, sipping his wine. "I dunno," he responded, far too calmly. In the blink of an eye, he reached for another throw pillow and smacked Antonio with it - right in the face.

Antonio was knocked back by the sudden attack, his back hitting the couch momentarily. He stared in disbelief at the one before him. A mischievous glance met his astonished one. He could not believe that this was happening. Lovino was really hitting him with pillows. No way. This was something out of a romance novel, a teen drama. Not a- His thoughts cut off there.

Now he understood. All those books scattered around the house... The way Lovino mentioned his brother's romantic partner... The realization dawned on him. He couldn't help but to crack a smile. Truthfully, what else did he expect? He had heard stories of Italians and their adventures with romance. But to think of Lovino in the same light... It was unfathomable.

Nonetheless, he allowed himself to be caught up in the moment. A wide smile spread across his lips, and Lovino gulped down the rest of his wine - no doubt to save it from being knocked over. The glass was quickly placed down on the table, just as Lovino shot up from the couch and darted away. Antonio gave chase.

It was strange, to be acting like such children when they were well within their twenties. Who knew that two grown men would actually involve themselves in a pillow fight? But they did just that. Lovino rounded the table, and Antonio was quick to follow, flinging his arm forward. The small pillow collided with Lovino's shoulder, and it was instantly retaliated with an attack of his own. Antonio let out a loud laugh and defended before attacking with his own once more. And while Lovino wasn't laughing, that wide grin told everything Antonio was looking for - he was having  _fun_.

Then the attack turned on him. The Spaniard danced out of the way and squeaked as another pillow was hurled at him, ducking under the first one and raising his arm to defend from the second pillow Lovino wielded as a sword. Keeping his bent posture, Antonio struck out at Lovino's hip with the pillow already in his hand. And a laugh came from the Italian. Oh, how it was such a beautiful sound. They traded words in Italian and Spanish, neither of them knowing the translation for such threats, as they raced around the living room.

As they fought, Antonio took careful notice of the way Lovino stumbled every now and then, but seeing as how Lovino didn't make a big deal of it, he thought better than to worry about it. He instead worried more about whether or not he would win the fight, trying with all his might to land more hits than the ones he received. But alas, the fight could not last forever. With the music playing the background to aid to their wild chase, Antonio found that it was rather tiring to try to keep up with the Italian.

Lovino was fast and light on his feet. He would jump up onto the couches and bound across them, as if it was nothing. He was quick to dart and duck, to avoid attacks at all costs. He clearly had experience in such things, for Antonio had not met someone so nimble and quick. It was quite the challenge to keep up with the other, and eventually, the older found that he just plain couldn't. Thus, he did what any man would do. He chucked his pillow at Lovino.

No, he didn't just throw it. He didn't toss it. He threw it as hard as he possibly could. And just as he had expected, Lovino had lifted his hands to block the quickly approaching object. Antonio took his chance. He darted forward and under the pillow that doubled as a shield, knocking it away and sliding underneath Lovino's arms. His shoulder met with the other's chest, and he easily knocked him down. And down they went. Thankfully, Antonio had managed to angle it just right so that Lovino's back landed against the soft cushions of the longest couch, though not without a surprised squeak.

Acting quickly, he reached up and snatched away the pillow he knew would be used as a weapon and tossed it across the room. It hit the wall with a soft  _thud_ , sliding down to land on the floor. He then grabbed the hand that pushed against his shoulder, pushing it down to the cushions and straddling the one before him. He worked on pure instinct, until he sat hovering above Lovino, looking down to him. And that was when he froze.

As soon as their eyes met, Antonio's breath caught in his throat. Lovino's cheeks were flushed. His hand was extended above him, where Antonio had kept his wrist pinned to the couch's arm. Hot air escaped from slightly parted lips, chest rising and falling in time with the elated breaths. But after a moment, they stilled abruptly, eyes widening and mouth gaping.

But he did not look away, nor did he tug at the hand holding his wrist. He merely just laid there, emotions swirling together in his eyes. Antonio could not pick them out, for he was too entranced in the way Lovino's skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat - all thanks to their playful endeavors. He wanted to lean down and capture those lips that quivered ever so slightly, wanted to press gentle kisses to the rounded cheeks and sharp brows. He wanted to brush away soft locks. He was driven crazy by the simple sight of Lovino below him - of Lovino not fighting him, but rather, staring directly at him in return.

His body acted upon its own accord. He could feel his muscles tense up in preparation for moving forward, but alas, they stopped as soon as Lovino glanced away. He decided instead to take it a different route. He smiled with amusement down at the one below him. "You're not fighting me?" It was caught between a question and a simple observation. Antonio himself did not know which one he had meant to speak it as.

Lovino snorted, giving a roll of his eyes. His brow raised as he looked back to Antonio. Confidence radiated from his expression and reflected in his eyes. "You won't do anything," he retorted.

Antonio hummed in speculation. The amusement tugged all the more at his lips, dancing in his eyes. "I won't, will I?" he challenged.

Lovino narrowed his eyes skeptically, but Antonio did not give him a chance to speak. He proved his point by lowering himself - and it was not slowly, either. No, he let his arm give out entirely and landed directly on Lovino, earning a small 'oof' from the Italian below. He merely gave a grin in response, but no words to accompany it. He removed his hand, folding it below his chin on Lovino's chest as to not hurt him.

The Italian groaned in annoyance and shifted under the weight, but did not push against him. His head tilted back and he pressed it more into the fabric. "Get your fat ass off me, damnit," he groaned.

"Nope. Say it nicer, and maybe I will." Though he already had plans not to. No, this was actually rather comfortable, his legs tangled with Lovino's. The Italian's body seemed to fit perfectly against his own. It left him feeling rather satisfied with their current position - even if it meant that nearly all his weight was pressed against Lovino.

Lovino was silent for a moment before correcting himself, "Get your nice ass off me?"

The comment genuinely surprised him. Never in his life did he expect to hear such words fall from Lovino's lips. He stared, dumbfounded. A wide grin spread across his lips. "You think my ass is nice?"

Lovino's eyes widened, his mouth gaping only slightly. He glanced to Antonio, then across to the coffee table, then groaned and let his head hit the couch again. A blush crept up to his cheeks, and Antonio could feel the Italian's heartbeat quicken beneath his palm. "Shut the fuck up. I didn't say that."

Antonio laughed. "But I just heard you!"

The cheeks only darkened in colour. "Damnit, shut up already! Will you please get off?!"

So maybe those were the exact words he was looking for. But was he going to? Of course not. He laughed breathlessly and tilted his head, letting it rest on Lovino's chest as he moved his hand out of the way. He let it fall beside Lovino, holding him in a sort of half-hug. "Nope," he answered proudly, much to the irritation of the one below him. Yet, Lovino did not struggle. Rather, while he did groan, he only lazily wrapped his arms around the Spaniard, interlocking his fingers on his back.

It was nice. To actually just lie there... Antonio let his eyes slide closed, humming in approval. He listened to the erratic beating of Lovino's heart, finding that his ear was pressed against it without his knowledge. He could hear the lungs expand and contract in uneven, forced breaths, feel the way Lovino fidgeted with his fingers behind him. Everything was so curious, yet so calming, and frankly, he did not want to move in the slightest.

"Why'd you do that, anyway?" The voice was gentle, and Antonio could hear the echo of the rumble in Lovino's chest. It was fascinating, in its own way.

Antonio's eyes flicked up. "Hm?"

"Y'know... Why'd you..." Lovino sighed, exasperated, "start that fight."

"To be fair, you started it. I just went along with it."

"... Whatever..." Lovino picked at the hoodie he had given Antonio. "Just answer the damn question."

Antonio pursed his lips. He hadn't thought about it; he just saw it as fun. He shrugged loosely, letting his eyes slide closed once more. "I don't know," he admitted. It probably wasn't the best answer, and most certainly wasn't what Lovino was looking for, but it was the best he could think of. "But you know... It does prove something," he added on after a short moment of silence. The silence that followed was his indication to continue. "You  _are_  human. You laugh and have fun. It doesn't matter what you've done, who you were in the past. What matters is here and now. The past is the past, the present is the present, and the future..." He paused. "That's yet to be seen."

There was no answer. Not a verbal one, at least. There was simply a gentle squeeze, in which he returned in his own fashion. Once again, the silence fell upon them, save for the gentle music in the background. A female's vocals could be heard, accompanied by a more modern and soothing song. Something about Alice, though Antonio cared not to listen. He focused on the rhythm against his ear, the steady beating of the heart.

It had been so long since he had done anything remotely close to this. And even when he did, all those years ago, it was nothing like this. It was not so calming, not so quiet. He breathed in deeply and slowly let it out, allowing for his muscles to relax. The hands on his back slowly pulled away from each other and began to trace along the curves of his back, ever so lightly running across it and smoothing out the folds of the hoodie. They explored his back, and he did not want them to stop.

Lovino's scent surrounded him, from the clothes he wore to the body he lay upon. He could feel his warmth enveloping him, feel the slow caress of curious hands. The world around them was nothing. In this world, there was him, and there was Lovino. The gentle light coming from the lamps did not bother him in the least, for he did not notice their glow; there was only the glow from the soft fire Lovino provided. Lovino was indeed a flame, warm and bright, Antonio concluded. No one would ever change that way of thinking. He had already compared him as such on so many occasions; it would no doubt be something he would always compare him to. For a fire such as this never burned out.

Antonio let a soft hum vibrate from his chest, caught between a chuckle and hum of questioning. It was returned with a questioning hum from Lovino, whose heart had steadied, Antonio realized. A hand carefully traced up his back and weaved into his hair, lightly tugging at the strands as it swept through; not once, not twice, but multiple times, fingertips massaging at the scalp. "It's been a while," the Spaniard finally murmured.

The silence that followed, Antonio had thought was due to the Italian not hearing his words. But after the gentle nudge for him to continue, the subtle shifting of the body beneath him, he found that Lovino was merely waiting for him to continue. "I used to have this girl... A long time ago..." he admitted. "We would lie like this sometimes." At those words, the hand stopped moving, the breath hitching. The heartbeat quickened, but then a slow breath calmed it. "She was... everything... back then..."

Where had all his strength gone? His joy, his smile? He could feel the ache in his heart, feel the fear begin to clutch at the tightening muscle. He breathed out a sigh and began rubbing his forefinger as a calming tactic. "She was kind, and sweet. But she was... strange and so... eccentric. But it was all in a good way. Everyone liked her. I fell in love with her." He didn't even know why he was speaking of this all of a sudden, what had come over him to speak of such things. Others knew the story, but to tell it, so far after it had happened... It was strange to him.

The hand continued to venture across his back, lightly rubbing between his shoulders. While it did not go ignored, he did not voice his opinions on it, either. "But I hurt her..." His voice was quieter now, barely even a whisper. He could feel the hand falter, but it picked up its wanderings once again. Fingertips just barely tickled against his shoulder blade, before the palm pressed against him once again. "I hurt her... so much..."

Lovino's voice, soft as it was, startled him. "You regret it..."

Antonio's eyes opened, and they flicked up to Lovino momentarily. Slowly, he nodded, letting his gaze venture to the coffee table just across from him. "I do..." he admitted, "I don't love her anymore, but... She didn't deserve that. Nobody does..."

"What... happened...?" The voice was hesitant, timid to speak that simple question. But oh, it was not simple... not in the least.

The Spaniard breathed out a sigh, eyes closing. "Everyone has regrets," he echoed. It was a conversation from before, he knew, but it was relevant. "I was in... a really bad spot... I cheated, I stole, I did... so many things. I hurt her..." A gentle squeeze pulled him away from his thoughts, then it grew stronger, more definite. He shifted against Lovino, but did not lift his head. "My friends... Francis and Gilbert... They know all about it. They were there through it all. They snapped me out of it. But... it was too late..." He paused for only a brief moment before he continued, "That fight, y'know. That I was talking about. It was about her. Francis and Gilbert are... trying to protect me, I guess, from doing something I'd regret."

He could feel Lovino shift beneath him, a simple raising of the head before it fell again. But there was no verbal answer to be heard. And so, he continued. "It's happening again... Not... Not me hurting someone. So it's not that..." Though, he was sure that he would. He could feel his heartbeat quicken, and if he wasn't mistaken, he could hear Lovino's pick up in speed. He swallowed thickly, his fingers trembling slightly. Why was he even coming out with this...? His rational mind told him it was stupid. But... He had to. "I'm falling again... I'm falling hard, and I can't stop it..."

The rising and falling of Lovino's chest ceased, and Antonio could've sworn he heard the heart skip a beat before continuing again. The Italian let out a shaky breath, the warm air rustling Antonio's hair. The hands had stilled right where they lay; one on his head, and another on his back. "I told them, and they... weren't happy... because I hurt her, and hurt myself by doing it..."

For a moment, Lovino was silent, just as he had been through the whole thing. But this time, he did not remain as such. The breathing steadied and quietly, a question left his lips, "But if you were given another chance... with this... person you've come to like... A chance to prove yourself..." He spoke carefully, with a slight edge to his tone.

Antonio's shoulders stiffened, his eyes widening. No. No, this couldn't be. Did Lovino know-? He supposed he hadn't hid it, hadn't tried to. There was too much against him. But to have it out there in the open... Hesitantly, he glanced toward the one he lay atop. Lovino refused to meet his gaze.

"You wouldn't mess it up again. Would you." The tone was flat. There was no indication of a question. It was something that only had one answer - at least in Antonio's mind.

Oh, but he was left speechless. It was true. He would not mess it up again. If he was given such a chance, he would try his hardest to never do such a thing again. He swallowed hard, and his lips tugged up in a smile. The thought of trying again, with Lovino by his side... It warmed his heart. "No... Never. If I was given another try..." He laughed, almost breathless. "I'd treat them like they should be treated. I'd never, ever hurt someone like that again... Nobody... Nobody deserves that..."

Lovino breathed out, his chest falling, and thus Antonio's head falling with it. His breathing steadied entirely, though his heart had not. He fidgeted with the locks of hair, and with the hoodie's fabric. "That's... That's... good..." he murmured. He swallowed and continued, "I know that if I were... ever with someone... I'd want to be treated right. If I wasn't... God..." He shifted under Antonio, twisting his head away from the Spaniard. "I've always been afraid of... getting hurt like that. People leaving and never comin' back, too... Why d'you think I'm always runnin' away all the damn time? I can't even make friends, let alone..." His voice trailed off, but he had already said enough; Antonio understood.

There was no denying it; Lovino knew. Antonio did not know what to think of that, how to feel. But, he had to make a statement. He was scared - terrified. He did not know if Lovino truly knew or not, but the carefully chosen words almost said too much. He pulled away from Lovino, not daring to meet his eyes. He sat up and carefully moved off of him, helping him up. His stomach twisted nervously, his limbs trembling violently. He wanted to run. He wanted to flee. He wanted to return to the hotel, fly to Germany, and never be seen again. But at the same time, he wanted to wrap Lovino up in his arms and whisper those three magical words.

He couldn't. He knew he wouldn't be able to. His eyes met Lovino's and he offered a smile. He reached behind his neck and, ignoring the look of confusion, undid the clasp hidden there. He pulled it up and over the hoodie's seam, turning it around in his hands so that it would face the correct way. Reaching forward, he did the clasp behind Lovino's neck. When he retracted his hands, the silver cross pendant fell against the Italian's neck.

Lovino looked down to the silver cross, picking it up in one hand. He frowned in confusion at it, eyebrows furrowing. "The fuck is this?"

The choice of wording was almost enough for Antonio to burst out laughing, right then and there. Somehow, he managed to keep it at a very light one, giving a smile when it died down. "To protect you. So you're never hurt," he answered.

Lovino snorted, letting the pendant fall to his chest once again. He looked to Antonio with skepticism. "You really think this'll work?" Despite his flat tone, there was a flicker of hope in his eyes. Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was Lovino himself. Whatever it was, it was there, and Antonio was going to use it.

He smiled in return and tapped the small pendant. "I've worn that thing since I was a kid, and it's got me this far."

"That doesn't say much."

This time, he did laugh, and in return, he earned a small smile from the one before him. "My point is, Lovi..." he spoke again, "If you trust in it, it'll protect you."

A silence fell over the two of them. Lovino looked to the small pendant, reaching up to touch it gently with his fingertips. After a small moment, he let his hand fall and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Antonio. It was unsuspected, but not as surprising as before, and thus, the Spaniard moved to react faster than he would have. He returned the embrace without a moment's thought.

He felt the arms tighten around him, and he returned it by pressing his head against Lovino's and pulling him flush against him. He was right. Lovino fit perfectly against him. All thoughts scattered from his mind, all worries and arguments fled without a single trace. His world, once again, was just him and Lovino. And damnit, he was happy with just that. His world only grew all the brighter as he heard one whispered phrase. It was a simple phrase, but it was one that held so much meaning to Antonio.

"Grazie..."

He smiled widely and gave a light squeeze. "Of course," he whispered in return. He pulled away, but only just enough to look Lovino in the eye. His smile became more genuine as he lifted a hand to brush a stray lock away from the Italian's face. "I said I wouldn't mess it up again, wouldn't I?" Antonio watched as eyes widened a fraction, lips parting. The music was left entirely forgotten. The other's chest had stilled, and he could feel Lovino's heart beating wildly in his chest. He could not miss the way his cheeks reddened with colour, emotions swimming in his eyes. Fear, trust, worry, joy, astonishment...

_**Love.** _

He did not know who moved first. But when his lips met Lovino's, it was, for lack of a better word, magic. It was electrifying, and sent shivers up and down his spine. Lovino's lips were soft against his own. He could not breathe, not even a single breath, yet he could pick up the traces of alcohol, flowers, and the sea. He did not stop to think, simply just held Lovino closer. He was in eternal bliss. He felt that if he pulled away now, then all would cease to exist. Yet he felt that if he didn't, then he would collapse, right then and there. His knees were weak, his hands were shaking. He was struggling to breathe. Oh, but he felt that he never had to breathe again, so long as Lovino's lips stayed pressed to his own.

His heart beat wildly in his chest, in sync with Lovino's. He took the Italian's cheek in his hand and tilted his head, pressing into the kiss. He could feel Lovino's arms tighten around him, pulling him closer. Fingers curled into tight fists, grasping at the fabric of the hoodie. A soft, shaky sigh of relief and content escaped from Antonio's nostrils, at long last. Their lips moved together, yet neither dared to part, each too fearful to take it a step farther. It was gentle and sweet, Antonio realized. He had read so many romance novels, but he thought for sure that a kiss could never feel like this... But it did. It was real, and it was happening, at this very moment - with Lovino.

It was Lovino who parted his lips first, who took the first step by allowing his teeth to graze against Antonio's bottom lip. From there, Antonio could not control himself. He let his own lips part, his tongue slipping out to meet with Lovino's. It was an all-new feeling. His world didn't just brighten. It exploded with colour. He pressed into the kiss, deepening it. His hand traveled from the small of Lovino's back, to his waist, and traveled up slowly from there. He allowed it to freely roam, feeling the hands at his back pull him closer.

Lovino tasted like wine. That much was obvious. But along with that, there was a distinct taste that Antonio could only describe as, well,  _Lovino_. He could not pinpoint what it was. It was intoxicating, it was wonderful, it was euphoric. Yet there was no word out there to describe the taste itself. He just knew that there was nothing else out there like it, and damnit, he wanted more of it. He could not part from it, even if he wanted to. And oh, he did  _not_  want to...

The kiss was gentle and sweet, but as it continued, Antonio found that it became more passionate, more heated. At first, he couldn't breathe, and now, he was nearly gasping for air, yet too intoxicated to take more time between kisses to catch up. But it was not what sent him over the edge.

No, it was the way Lovino moaned into the kiss. It was the way one hand knotted into his hair, the other pulling at his hip. It was the way Lovino pushed his own hips forward to meet with Antonio's. It was the way he lightly nipped at the Spaniard's tongue and pulled him in deeper. It was the way Lovino's thumb and forefinger slid between the fabric of Antonio's jeans and the soft curves of the skin stretched across his hip. It was the way Lovino's kiss showed desperation.

He had intentionally tried to hold himself back. But now, after the clear signs of wanting to take it a step forward, Antonio had thrown his restraint out the window and across the ocean. His hand slid down the Italian's sides and gripped at Lovino's hips, pulling him forward again and giving a moan of his own. The gasp coming from Lovino gave him time to break the kiss, pressing his lips against the other's jawline. He traveled to his neck, nipping gently and allowing his leg to slip between Lovino's.

He was lost entirely. It was difficult to keep himself standing with Lovino moving against him. For a moment, he considered pushing the Italian back down to the couch, but thought better of it. Even in this state, he knew that the couch just would not do; Lovino would certainly not appreciate that, if they did indeed go farther than this. And judging by how they were pressing against each other, there was no stopping them.

" _Bed_..."

He tugged at Lovino's thighs as his lips occupied Lovino's once again, guiding him up and onto his hips. It only took a moment for Lovino to catch on, and once he did, his ankles were quickly hooked at Antonio's back. He could not carry him all the way. No, of course not; he was not strong enough. He only managed to make it to the stairs before Lovino lost his grip. Antonio braced Lovino against the wall, lips leaving the Italian's so that they could instead suck lightly at the skin of his neck. Moans and gasps escaped from the both of them, neither of them even bothering to hide their lust.

As soon as the Italian's feet were on the ground, they were traveling again. It was slow going, but finally, they made it. Antonio struggled with the doorknob for a moment, pushing it open with a foot while Lovino worked at his neck. In the light of the moon, Antonio could just barely see the outline of the bed, his eyes not quite adjusted to the low light. Still, he guided Lovino over by pushing against him, though it seemed that Lovino did not need guiding. He, too, stepped toward the bed without leaving Antonio's heat.

Within moments, Lovino's back fell upon the sheets, Antonio hovering over him. They moved against one another, lips sloppily crashing together as hands clumsily rushed to remove the offending articles of clothing.

"Antonio..."

The sound of his name sent shivers down his spine, sent his mind spiraling out of control.

"Ti desidero..."

The translation was absolutely lost to him. He could only assume its meaning by the way it was whispered in his ear, accompanied by the gasps and moans flowing from Lovino's lips. And from there, he was absolutely lost to the world - he and Lovino both.


	7. Day Seven: Sadness of the Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mentioned death (I promise there are deaths in present-day; Antonio and his friends are okay), heavy emotional content, and mentions of depression, panic attacks, and anxiety found below. Please take breaks from reading, if necessary, for this chapter is very emotionally-heavy due to its content.
> 
> A/N: So uh. I'm sorry this one got a little emotionally heavy haha~! The thing is, between the time that I posted the last chapter and the time I finished this, a lot of things happened. I was already spiraling down, emotionally, in October of last year, and it got progressively worse. (Unfortunately, my mental health and my newly acquired job has kept me busy.) Thus, I admit to say, a lot of this is firsthand experience rather than writing blindly, and I hadn't even noticed the signs in my muses for this fic until I reread it with the knowledge I have now.
> 
> Nonetheless, I am better now and am writing again! Thus, I have finished this chapter! I'm so excited to have finally finished this, and I hope it meets your guys' expectations. ;u; Please, I do urge you to take breaks, if you need to! I had to take many breaks from writing this, so please, if you feel your mental health is at risk, please take a break!! Thank you so much for supporting me all this way!
> 
> Also, just wanna put it out there... This fic can be found on ff.net, under the same name!

"So is this it?"

Gilbert pursed his lips as his eyes flicked away from the larger man and toward the conveyor belt. A hum of thought left him. "Mm... No, there's one more thing," he answered, hands perched on his hips. A noise resounded from the one next to him, but he paid it no mind. Finally, his eyes locked onto the large suitcase as it tumbled down the slide, a wide grin spreading across his lips. "There it is! That one there, with the bird charm on it!"

Antonio was not the one to move for it. Instead, it was the man who had arranged to pick them up, a man known as Ludwig. Boy, the guy sure had grown since the last time the Spaniard had laid eyes upon him... Sitting upon the bench, the Spaniard let out a sigh, his nostrils flaring as the air escaped from them. Last he had seen the man, he was only just a few centimeters taller than the brunet; now, he seemed like he was the height of a house. Maybe more! No, no, that couldn't be... The Spaniard let an amused smile play along his lips, thankful for the distraction the German brothers gave him.

As Ludwig lugged the noted suitcase off the belt, a strained grunt left him. The large container hit the floor with a resounding _THUD!_ "Mein gott, Gilbert!" the blond exclaimed. "Just what do you have in here? Did you really need to bring THIS much with you?"

Blowing air through pursed lips, Gilbert waved his hand in dismissal. "Nonsense. That's all just souvenirs from the trip!"

"Just how many souvenirs do you need?" Ludwig retorted, stunned at his brother's reply. "This thing is heavier than Berlitz!"

"You whine too much! Berlitz is totally heavier than this!"

Oh, but it was there that Antonio had lost the conversation. German was not a language he had picked up in his years of hanging around the brothers. Sure, he could understand a word here and there, and there were some similarities with English, but it was not enough for Antonio to fully comprehend the words. Nonetheless, there was a distraction for him, presented none other than by the man who sat beside him. He had almost forgotten his presence entirely, far too lost in his own thoughts and his desperation to distraction himself from them.

"How are you faring, Antonio...?" The voice was quiet, almost inaudible above the chatter of the airport.

Antonio's eyes flicked to the man seated beside him. Francis looked to him in worry, his fingers laced together as his elbows rested upon his knees. Antonio gave a reassuring smile. "I am fine," he answered. His voice, too, was quiet as to match the volume of the Frenchman's. "I am sorry for worrying you so much earlier, but I am well rested."

Francis breathed out a sigh through thinned lips, those very same lips curling into a gentle smile. "I'm glad..." he spoke, "You had me worried. I did not expect you to fall asleep so suddenly - especially not on a plane."

Antonio rolled his shoulders, his head lazily resting upon his palm. "What can I say? That run really wore me out."

Francis snorted and sat back in his seat, his arms folding across his stomach. Thin fingers curled around his forearm as one leg crossed atop the other, scrutinizing his friend. "Don't even mention that run! You could have gotten yourself killed, Antonio. I hope you realise that," he warned.

A small chuckle left Antonio, and he was sure to flash an apologetic smile. "I know, I know... I did not mean to worry you, or Gilbert, for that matter. I wasn't thinking."

"Is that supposed to come as a surprise to me?" Francis cut in.

Antonio let out a laugh, the sound far quieter than what he would have liked. Oh well, nothing he could really do about that. "Oh, how cruel~! Shot down by the words of my dearest friend!" he mocked.

A lighter smile curled onto Francis's lips, his shoulders relaxing. "Only if it means you will laugh again."

"Careful, Francis," Antonio spoke light-heartedly, "keep talking like that and I might just think you are in love with me."

Blue eyes blinked in astonishment, eyebrows lifting at the notion. For only a brief moment, the Frenchman was silent. But after that moment, there was a laugh to break it. "Maybe once, my friend, but I believe you would only lead me to an early death if I were to love you! Why, I'd be in the hospital from stress-related illness every other day!"

A laugh was shared between the two, and when it had died down to a chuckle, another voice interrupted their conversation. It came in the simple form of a name; Antonio’s. Upon hearing it, the Spaniard's laughter ceased and in curiosity and surprise, his eyes flicked toward the source. At first, he thought for sure he was hallucinating. Dreaming, perhaps. Had he even woken up on that plane? Was he still asleep? No, this had to have been real. But why would he be here, of all places?

A wide smile spread across Antonio's lips, his heart lifting and his eyes dancing with joy. "Miguel!" he greeted with cheer as he pushed himself up from his seat. He rushed forward and, just as hands retreated from the pockets of the elder's coat, he collided with the man and wrapped his arms around his brother. Arms wrapped around him in kind, a laugh bubbling up from the taller man. Oh, but with the force of the collision, there was only way to keep them both from falling; by lifting the younger up off the ground and spinning him once, before returning him to his feet. "O dios mío, it's been forever!"

A hand ruffled Antonio's hair as Miguel looked to his brother in amusement. "No, I believe it's only been a few years, little brother," he reminded. "Sorry for not coming sooner, I had other things to attend to."

Antonio pulled away from the hug, giving another grin to his older sibling. "The business is going well?"

Miguel gave a nod, but did not speak any more of it. He knew full well just how little Antonio truly wanted to speak of the adventures with the business. Instead, he focused his attention to Francis, who, Antonio had realised upon looking to him, had stood and was quietly making his way over. A raised eyebrow and a questioning looking from the darker-haired man, followed by a shrug and remorseful smile from the Frenchman, and a frown turned down the corners of Miguel's lips. Miguel let out a gentle sigh, but he did not say a single word about the silent conversation. He looked to Antonio again, offering another, gentler smile. He leaned forward to gently press his lips to the younger's cheek, which Antonio returned. "Glad you made it safely, Toni."

"Come on, guys, we're going to leave without you!"

Antonio turned his gaze toward the two brothers waiting for them just down the hall, the older of the two waving his arms wildly as to attract their attention. Gilbert's bags were by his feet, yet it seemed that Ludwig would be carrying the heavier one; the one Gilbert claimed to hold souvenirs. Gathering up his own bag and strapping his guitar to his back, Antonio followed both Francis and Miguel toward the two Germans. As the two spoke excitedly of the adventures throughout the countries they had visited, Antonio, Francis, and Miguel settled on discussing the variations in food and language among their destinations. Miguel seemed intrigued by this, yet Francis seemed appalled at the notion that some of the stranger foods Antonio had tasted, he actually enjoyed. An outrage, the Frenchman had called it.

Not once was a certain Italian's name mentioned. Those days on the beach, the loss of Antonio's necklace, that night spent with the angel who had captured the Spaniard's heart... Not a single mention of it was made on their journey to the parking garage. And for once, Antonio was thankful for that. With the absence of talk about the happenings in Naples, Antonio was able to throw his entire mind into the conversation of food and cultural aspects.

And when the Italian cuisine had been mentioned, the topic had been shied upon, by none other than Francis. A wave of the hand, and a simple, "It's as you expect. Plenty of tomato sauce and noodles," and the conversation continued on from there. But oh, the twinge of remorse had already settled in the Spaniard, his mind's eye bringing forth those dishes he had shared with his all-too-kind host. It was so much more than tomato sauce and noodles, he wanted to say... But even now, as the conversation had moved to another topic, he could not speak his mind. And for the life of him, he could not throw himself into the conversation as he had before...

He could feel himself drawing away from the others. Not physically, no... He stood beside them, just as he would any other day. He laughed and spoke excitedly. But he did not hear the words even he, himself, had spoken. He could not feel the cheer that rang so clearly in his voice. His gaze flicked to and fro, his hands waving as he spoke as to distract from his eyes, in hopes that they would, for once, not betray him. They were, after all, the windows the soul. Or so he had believed...

He did not notice when they had reached the car. Hell. He had hardly noticed when they had entered the parking garage. He was too lost not in the conversation, but in his own thoughts and memories to take note. And thus, when the group had slowed to a stop, it only lead him to confusion. The answer as to why this was so came to him soon, however, upon seeing the car before him. His eyes flicked to his brother, curiosity within them. "Are you coming with us?" he questioned.

Miguel gave a nod, and Antonio took note that his hands were once again hidden away. "I am. Ludwig has kindly offered the couch to me while I'm here."

This posed another question, Antonio realised as he aided Ludwig with filling the trunk with the luggage from the three of them. His brow furrowed. "You never told me why you were here," he pointed out as he drew his guitar's strap up and over his head.

"Business meeting in the Netherlands." Their conversation paused momentarily as they slipped into the backseat, Antonio given the middle seat. With his lack of height compared to Francis and Miguel - both of which who took up the seats on either side of him - he was chosen to be the best candidate to take up the middle seat. As Ludwig had put it, it would be easiest for him to see over Antonio's head than it would for either of the other two. Nonetheless, as soon as they were seated and the car began pulling out, Miguel picked up the conversation right where it had left off, "I figured that since I was already in the area, I should swing by."

Antonio lifted an eyebrow, suspicion growing within him. "Somehow, I doubt that," he argued. "The Netherlands isn't exactly 'in the area'."

Miguel pursed his lips, surveying his brother for a moment. Then finally, a chuckle slipped past him. Eyes of a similar green hue flicked away, almost embarrassed that he had been caught in a lie. "True... It may not be. But a true businessman never gives away his secrets."

Antonio found himself unsatisfied with this answer. To prove his point, he jabbed his brother in the side with an index finger. The man squirmed and glanced to him, but only flashed an amused smile. "The trip to the Netherlands may have been for business purposes, but the trip here wasn't. Therefore, you can't use that excuse on me," the younger retorted.

"Alright, alright, fine." Another smile. "Maybe I just wanted to see my little brother after all these years. Is that really so wrong of me?"

"Considering you usually don't unless there's a solid reason, I somehow doubt that."

"Sometimes, I wonder if you two are brothers or enemies..." The voice belonged this time to Francis.

Antonio glanced over, finding blue eyes lazily staring toward him.

The Frenchman rolled his shoulders in a loose shrug. "If the man wants to visit, the man wants to visit. Let's leave it at that, oui?"

Perhaps he was just being paranoid. But in all truth, he did not know the reason for this sudden visit, nor the nature of Francis's and Miguel’s secret conversations. Breathing out a sigh, Antonio decided instead to let it go, sinking back into his seat. Just as he did, the blinding light of the day filtered in through the car's windows, forcing his eyes to squint at the sudden barrage. He had not even noticed that they had exited the parking garage, but he no doubt had the conversation to blame for that. Ludwig was better at driving than his brother was, Antonio noted as the car merged into traffic and continued on down the lane. He had not remembered an instant where the younger German had drove them, for it was usually the elder of the two who would take the wheel.

When picking up Gilbert for their vacation, they had not even seen Ludwig. The poor man had been working on that day, and thus could not greet them or see them off. Really, Antonio felt a twinge of pity for the man; the poor guy worked day in, day out, and even when he was at home, he seemed to be locked away in his office. Or at least, that was what Antonio could gather from his conversations with the older of the two siblings. But, he supposed he could not judge. Perhaps, he mused, work was just something Ludwig enjoyed and if not, then he could definitely put up with it well enough. But with these thoughts came a curiosity...

Back in the hotel, Francis and Gilbert had both been talking about an Italian who had managed to capture the German's heart - though the name escaped him at the current moment. How did he fare with his lover working so often? Was it something he put up with, or did they somehow work out how to separate the time evenly between work and social life? Breathing out a sigh, Antonio folded his hands in his lap and let his eyes venture to them, watching as the pads of his thumbs lazily battled one another.

Whatever it was, he did not know how they could do it. It always seemed that one or the other would sweep the Spaniard off his feet. He would get so caught up in one, he would lose track of the other. Most work, Antonio just simply was not cut out for. He did not know what it was, exactly, that he even wanted to do with his life. He was headed in random directions, desperately trying to find his place. And right when he thought he had found it, it had been ripped right out from under him, in the span of half an hour at best...

"Oi, Ludwig," Gilbert spoke up, breaking the thoughts that clouded Antonio's mind. His voice came out in a whine, a sort of disgruntled groan. "Where's my favourite little Italian, huh? I thought he'd be there with you!"

Antonio's eyes flicked up at this, taking note of the conversation before him. They first settled on the pout on Gilbert's lips, then to the tinge of pink dusting across Ludwig's cheeks. He found his curiosity slowly rising at this, his lips pursing. From beside him, he could hear Francis contribute to the conversation with a question of similar meaning, his hand on Gilbert's seat as he leaned forward to make himself known to the brothers.

Ludwig cleared his throat and tightened his hands on the wheel. His shoulders squared, his back pressing further into his seat. "He's, ah... He's out buying groceries. For tonight's dinner," he answered, "He said he wanted to celebrate you all coming back from your trip, before you have to leave."

"Will there be booze?" Miguel cut in.

Blue eyes flicked over a shoulder in an attempt to look at the one seated behind him, but finding that he couldn't, he focused them once again on the road. "Ja, I think so. I already have beer at the house. But it seems everytime he goes to the store alone, he buys himself wine."

The Frenchman laughed, the sound airy and light, as he sat back in his seat once more. "Aah, that sounds like him alright... Glad to see he is doing better."

"Ja... Me too..." the German responded, the words almost too quiet for any of them to hear.

Francis laid a hand upon Ludwig's shoulder, giving a reassuring smile, though he knew the man could not see it. "Relax. You have done him well, my friend. He may be a happy man, but I have never seen him _this_ happy. Because of you, I'm sure, he has overcome a lot more than he would have alone, given his fami—"

"Bonnefoy, please," Ludwig cut in. He gave an almost defeated glance over his shoulder. "I feel the same as him. If you will not speak of it around him, I ask you do not speak of it around me."

Francis gave Ludwig an apologetic look, gently squeezing at the shoulder beneath his palm. "I understand. I did not mean any harm."

From where Antonio sat, he could see the forgiving twitch of the lips; an indication that the German had forgiven his friend. Thoughts and curiosities swarm through his mind, his brow furrowing as he tried to comprehend it all. But alas, as the conversation shifted to other, lighter subjects - thanks to Miguel asking Ludwig about his vehicle's statistics, all of which Ludwig answered with pride - he found himself losing his interest yet again. Head resting against the seat, his eyes wandered up toward the ceiling. Vaguely, he wished he could stare out either of the windows, but he feared that if he tried, it would be seen as staring at either of the two next to him. And knowing both of them, he would be teased endlessly for it. Perhaps even have it turned into a game, of sorts.

Thankfully, it seemed they were a lot closer to the German's home than he had previously thought. He had heard that the two had moved, to accommodate the fact that Gilbert would be moving in with his younger sibling, but he had never seen the new house. Finding that he now had something more permanent to focus on, his eyes flicked to the two-story Ludwig pulled into the driveway of. The car came to a halt, the parking brake set and the key turning, and Ludwig announced that they had arrived. Really, like it needed to be announced in the first place...

Nonetheless, Antonio waited for one of the two to slip out of the car, and upon seeing as how it was Miguel who had done so first, he moved to follow. Aah, but he should have known the mischievous ways of his brother, for as soon as he slid into the seat beside him, the car's door slammed shut. Glancing through the window with a frown, he was met with an amused, triumphant smirk.

Miguel would not win, the younger decided.

Throwing himself toward the door, Antonio quickly made a move to open it, only to have the elder do the same and hold the door closed. Antonio growled and fought against his brother, pushing against the door. From outside the car, he could hear the cheers and hollers of Gilbert, though he could not pick out just who his friend was rooting for. But after a moment of fighting to open the door, it suddenly swung open, just as the younger had given a final heave. With the lack of something to lean against, Antonio let out a cry as he suddenly tumbled out of the car and onto the pavement.

Laughter from his brother filled his ears, and he could basically _hear_ Ludwig's eyeroll as he grunted about the two still being children. Antonio pushed himself up off the ground and dusted himself off, ignoring the clap to his back from Miguel. He did, however, shoot a weakened glare before moving to help with the bags once again. With guitar strapped to his back and his suitcase in his hand, Antonio followed his host into the home.

It was a lot larger on the inside than it looked on the outside. Modern furniture, tile floor, and just the right amount touches of home awaited them inside. The stairs were easy enough to spot, and it seemed that all doors had been left open for ease of access. Yet in a way, it was in a tidy way. No door was left partially closed, or partially open, but rather, flush against the wall. It gave a sort of welcoming feel, and Antonio couldn't help but to wonder if this was Ludwig's doing, or perhaps the visitor he apparently had as well. His lover, the Spaniard silently reminded himself. Oh, but it was the sweet scent of sauce filling his nose that caused his stomach to twist.

A wave of nostalgia hit him like a punch to the gut. No, it wasn't a tidal wave, calm and gentle. It was not a peaceful kind of sensation. It made Antonio nauseous, made his heart leap to his throat, made his head spin and his breath flutter. Tomatoes. He could smell tomatoes, strongly accentuated with herbs. He recognised that smell like no other, he realised, and he found he had troubles swallowing. He could feel his eyes sting, tears threatening to fall, but they did not.

"Fernández?"

The sudden voice caught him off guard. His surroundings rushed back to him, air returning to his lungs. Panicked eyes glanced to the side, catching sight of blue. He breathed out a shaky sigh and threw on a smile. A question of whether or not he was alright was not just written on the German's face, but spoken from thin lips as well. The Spaniard nodded. "I am alright, friend. I am still dreaming from the plane ride," he lied. Oh, but it was the kind of lie spoken by a true actor. It was without waver, without uncertainty.

"Mon dieu, he was out like a light! Took forever to wake him up just to exit the plane!" Francis cut in, sliding forward and placing an arm around his dear friend's shoulders. He cast a smile to Antonio and Ludwig both, giving the shoulder a gentle squeeze of reassurance. "He simply needs a bit of rest, is all! Time to relax and unwind! You are aware of how Spaniards party, hm?" A wink in the break of his words. "Poor guy simply had too much excitement for a lifetime!"

There was a "hmph" of cautious agreement and understanding, blue eyes taking in Antonio's complexion for a moment. Finally, Ludwig's eyes flicked to Francis. A small gesture toward the hall. "Guest room is down the hall, to the left. Gilbert and I sleep on the top floor," he calmly explained. "I would show you myself, but I have to clean up the kitchen before F—"

Francis, ushering Antonio forward, waved his hand in dismissal. "Oui, oui, I understand, you take care of the kitchen before your cute little Italian gets home. I will take Toni here to the room," he spoke quickly as he stepped past the brute of a man and toward the hall. Antonio had no choice but to follow after, fumbling over his feet for a moment. He found it difficult to keep a hold on the suitcase he had carried inside. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his brother watching him warily. "We will be out shortly! Have fun with the kitchen~!"

And down the hall, they went. Francis's steps were quick, his lips drawn into a thin line and his hand squeezing a little too tight. It almost made Antonio grimace, given its strength. But they did not stop, not until Francis took a quick turn and pulled the brunet into the indicated room with him. The door was shut behind them and Francis spun around, grasping his friend by both arms. Worried blue eyes flicked between green hues. The fingers dug into the Spaniard's skin, ever so slightly. "Antonio," he spoke with all seriousness to his hushed tone, "You cannot keep doing this to yourself!"

Antonio could feel his muscles stiffen, feel his heart numb and his fingers tighten on the suitcase in his hand. He felt as though he could hardly breathe, his throat restricting.

The hands on his arms lowered, slowly, until they rested just above his elbows. "I am... _trying_ ," Francis spoke again, furrowing his eyebrows and dipping his head as his eyes slid closed, "I am _trying_ to be here for you, trying to be a good friend for you... I am trying, as far as you would let me, to take care of you." Slowly, he shook his head. "But Antonio, you cannot wallow in sorrow like you are. You knew him for one week! Not even!" Eyes flicked up to meet Antonio's again. "Don't you understand, Antonio? I know it's hard, I saw that this morning. Those were not fake tears, I know that... But please, you cannot do this to yourself, you cannot tear yourself up over this."

Perhaps it was silly. Crazy, even. Antonio knew that. God, did he know that... He knew that he should not have been so broken up over it, that he should have been able to just... let go. But God, he couldn't. It tore his heart into pieces just to think about doing so. Even now, he could feel fresh tears fill his eyes. He could not even bear to look to his friend, instead casting his eyes away in shame.

The fingers only dug in once again, and his arms were lightly shaken. "Aren't you listening to me?! Antonio, you need to forget Lovino!"

The name had not been spoken since that morning. That name pierced him... It shot through his heart like no other, a lump forming in his throat. He could feel his heart tearing already, piece by piece. "I know," he murmured.

"Then why aren't you?"

"I don't know!" And oh, he could feel the frustration building up from that... His suitcase found itself on the floor, and he balled his hands into fists. The tears rolled down his cheeks, and he could feel the grip loosening, hear his name spoken ever so gently from his friend's lips. "I don't know, and I wish I did! I wish I could tell you, wish I could stop this! I didn't ask for this, I didn't ask for any of this! I didn't ask for Anri to get hurt, I didn't ask for me to break promises, I didn't ask for Lovino to realise what a _monster_ I am! I didn't ask for _any_ of this!"

As soon as the guitar was lifted up and over his head by another force, arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. He allowed for them to. He clung desperately to his friend, burying his face into the crook of the man's neck when a hand beckoned him to do so. Thin fingers wove through his hair, again and again. "I was getting better—! I was happy! I could see in colour again, Francis! It wasn't dull, it wasn't monochrome! It was short, but dios mío, Francis, I... I had never breathed so freely, not since before I hurt Anri!

"I have been fighting... for _so_ long... So damn long...The days blurred together, sí, but it was different this time. It was so different from what's it's been, for years now... I was laughing-! _**Laughing!!**_ " He could feel his friend gently rocking back and forth, a head pressed against his own. He could not hear his voice, for he had gone silent. "I woke up that morning with Lovino, and you know what I thought about? You know what I felt? I felt _peace_. I was _happy_ I was awake...!

"I _know_ sure as hell I'm not cured. I _know_ that... I _know_ it's a long process, I _know_ there's no magical fix for this... for this... this _agony_ that life oh-so-graciously blessed me with. But God, Francis... I sincerely thought I could start over..." His breath hitched as he held fast to his friend. He could no longer cry; the tears had dried out. But his body refused to stop trembling, his mind refused to stop reeling. "I thought... I thought I could... prove that I... wouldn't hurt anyone..." And yet, he had made a mess of things once again, just as he always did. He had believed that there would be no repercussion for his actions, that everything would be just as it should. But alas, he was a stupid man, and had reached out to the one who had turned his back on him - both literally and figuratively - only to find that he had done so much more harm than good.

Finally, Francis had found the courage to speak, pressing quick kisses to the side of his friend's head. "I know, Antonio, I know..." he whispered softly. "I'm sorry, for demanding anything of you... I did not know it was that important to you... I'm sorry, my dear friend... I am here..."

The words did not fall upon deaf ears. But, unfortunately, his thoughts had already run rampage in his mind. He could already feel the crushing weight around him, weighing down on not just his heart, but his whole being. The thoughts screamed, murmured, whispered, shouted, until it all became white noise. "I'm so tired, Francis... I'm so tired... I don't want this pain... It hurts so much..." he found himself whispering, his entire body trembling from the weight pressing down on him.

The rocking stopped, but for only a moment. It picked back up again, hands frantically running through his hair and pressing at his back. "No, no, shh, it's okay... It's okay, Antonio, it's okay..." Francis whispered in hushed reassurances. He pressed kisses, again and again, to his friend's head, giving gentle squeezes. "Deep breaths, okay? Deep breaths... Everything will work out..." He drew in a breath, shaky, and from the sound of it, Antonio could tell there were tears in the Frenchman's eyes. "Remember what you told me? All those years ago? Gilbert and I both?

"You told us that there is balance, didn't you? That with each and every pain we feel, there will be an equal amount of euphoria. All this pain, all this suffering you're feeling now? You will have an equal amount of light to balance it out. And Antonio... With who you are, I'm sure that life will also reward you for your patience, reward you for pulling through as you are now. You just have to wait is all... Good things are to come, just as the sun rises every morning..."

Numb. He could only feel numb... Yet, he listened to Francis's words, forced himself to believe in them, to take them to heart. He repeated them over and over again in his mind, but it was not enough. His body ached, his heart yearned for what he could not have. He could not respond, only hold onto his dear friend as though he were the only living being left on the planet.

There was no need for a verbal response. A gentle squeeze, and Francis gingerly pulled away, his hands sliding down to Antonio's wrist. Tear-filled blue eyes glanced between reddened green ones. "Come and lay down. Until you feel strong enough to stand. I will be here, if you like." No answer. Francis tilted his head down, ever so slightly, and lifted his hand to gently wipe away the wetness on Antonio's cheek. "Would you like that, Toni?"

After a brief moment, the Spaniard gave a nod. His eyes closed and he gently took the hand pulling away from his cheek, pressing it against his skin once more. So warm... "Gracias, Francis..." he murmured quietly. A thumb brushed across his eyelashes, and lips pressed to his forehead.

"There is no need for that. Now come, mon ami, I will take care of you." Francis pulled away and gently lead his friend to the only mattress in the room, climbing on and coaxing the Spaniard to follow. Soon enough, they both lay upon the cool blankets, Francis' back pressed against the headboard as Antonio lay against his chest. Gingerly, he played with the curly brown locks, his other hand soothingly caressing Antonio's back. A few moments passed, and as Antonio's breathing steadied, a soft hum of a song reverberated from Francis.

Antonio let himself drown in the sensation. He still felt numb, yes, but he forced himself to focus on the hands trying to calm him, comfort him. He focused on the gentle hum and the way it vibrated the chest he lay upon. He listened to the heart beating within that very same chest, pounding against his ear. He found his arm winding around his friend's waist, giving a gentle squeeze as a silent sort of 'thank you'.

It was tough for Antonio. Francis knew that... Having been bounced around to so many places, having no home for so long, having lost everything all at once... It was rough on a growing mind, just starting to branch out and become independent from everything he had ever known. It did not help that his own behaviour had been a full-on slap in the face... He swallowed at that memory, forcing it from his mind. Now was not the time... He needed to quiet the thoughts, rid himself of the white noise that filled his mind. He needed to calm his erratic heart, and find the ease in breathing again. Even with his breaths as shallow as they were, they did not come as easily as he had hoped.

The door swung open, and from it, Antonio could hear the sounds from outside crash in around him. The humming stopped instantly. An excited voice echoed down the hall and filled his ears, a voice he could not recognise. But he had no chance to fully focus on this voice, for it was another that threw itself into the forefront.

"Hey, Feli just got here, and-" Antonio could feel eyes on him, just as the voice died. The sounds from outside quieted, and the click of the door followed. "Is he okay...?"

Antonio could feel Francis shift beneath him, but he did not have the strength to even lift his head. He simply let out a small grunt in response, his voice cracking ever so slightly. "Define okay, and I will be able to answer you," Francis answered for him.

Silence followed after. The room felt cold, but the hands caressing him felt so very warm. A breath of air danced over him as the one beneath him sighed, footsteps quiet as they neared the bed. Antonio felt a hand run through his hair, then pushed locks out of his face. "I'll let Ludwig know you're taking a nap," a beat, "and that Nanny Franny is watching over you." An attempt to cheer him up, Antonio knew. As to not worry his friend, he let a small puff of air escape him. It was the closest to a laugh he was going to get. A ruffle of his hair, and the hand pulled away. "Come out when you're ready. Dinner will be ready when you are."

A beat of silence, and then the footsteps retreated, as gentle and quiet as ever. Just as quiet, the door closed, leaving the pair in solitude. The hand continued to sweep through Antonio's hair, long fingers massaging at his scalp and twisting the curly locks. Neither of them spoke. Yet to Antonio, it didn't feel lonely.

He knew there were people who cared for him, those who would look after him, just as he did for them when the time had come. He let himself fall into the comfort that thought brought him, forcing his mind into the memories. He wasn't the only one who had moments of weakness; he knew that. His own best friends had their moments, too. He could still clearly remember sitting in that hospital lobby, holding his friend as he wailed. He could recall pulling a blanket over his wasted friend and promising to be there when morning came. He hadn't been the only one to need a shoulder to lean on.

So what was so wrong about allowing himself this moment of weakness?

From beyond the closed door, he could hear the excited chatter. He could not make out the voices, not quite; he could only tell there was a higher-pitched one mixed in with the deeper two. Muffled laughter echoed down the hall and to his ears. The longer the silence droned on, the more he could hear the sounds from beyond, his ears growing accustomed to the silence. It was calming, in a way.

It was a quiet reminder that he was not alone, that he did not have to curl under the blankets and hide himself from the world. He didn't have to hold a pillow, pretending that it were a warm body. No, he could hear the excitement outside, feel the warmth against his skin. Ever so gently, he held on tighter to this warmth, and that embrace was returned with a gentle squeeze. Indeed, he wasn't alone. As he lay there, he found himself calming, found himself able to breathe once again. Sorrow still weighed at his heart, refusing to lift. He feared it wouldn't. No. He knew it wouldn't. Not yet...

The body underneath him shifted, the hand running down to rest at the back of his neck. "Antonio...?" It was soft. Timid. Barely above a whisper. "Would you be alright with joining the others?" Silence. "You don't have to, but maybe it would—"

"I want to meet Ludwig's Italian," Antonio cut in. God, his voice sounded horrible... He grimaced at the sound, shifting uncomfortably at the foreign crackle of it. He sucked in a breath and slowly let it out through his nostrils. The grip on him relaxed just as the air escaped his lungs. "But I want to wash up. I can't be meeting him with a tear-stained face."

Antonio could feel Francis's smile, could feel the warmth from it. Lips pressed against his head, the hand lifting to run through curled locks once more. "As you wish. You head to the washroom. I'll meet you in the living room, oui?"

A nod. And after a brief moment, Antonio unwound his arms from Francis and removed himself from his friend, placing himself instead at the bedside. He dried his eyes with the back of his hand, wiping at his cheeks. The bed shifted, and a form appeared beside him. Green eyes flicked to his friend, and he found his words failing him. Guilt settled in. Glancing away, Antonio's hand dropped to the sheets. "I'm sorry," a beat, "for yelling at you. And for... everything else."

Francis shook his head, giving a pat to Antonio's shoulder. "No need for that," he answered. He pushed himself up, dusting off his clothes and straightening them. "I am the one who should apologise, for pushing you that far. I should have listened to you a bit more than that. You are my best friend, and I keep treating you as my child."

Antonio offered a smile, eyes once again on the Frenchman. "I'm not the only one. _She_ would agree with me," he pointed out. A pause, and Francis quirked his brow. The Spaniard rolled his shoulders, pushing himself up as well. "We both know you spoil Michelle rotten. If you didn't look as young as you do, people would mistake her as your child, not your sister."

Francis snorted, tilting his chin up and squaring his shoulders. "I only care for her as a child because I have raised her. Ever since she can remember, she has been under my care."

"But you have forgotten how to let go of your nurturing habits, because of it."

"... Fair enough. But your habits of getting yourself into trouble do not help that, either. If you will not look out after yourself, then who will?"

Antonio found silence settling in, until it took hold as his answer. His eyes adverted their gaze, and he could feel the twinge of shame. The words were far too true. He did what he needed to survive, but living? Full on living? Caring for himself, beyond the essentials? No, he had forgotten how. With an escaped breath, the Spaniard gave his answer, "If I had more time, I would. You forget; I do not have as much free time as I used to. Between work and studies, I only have enough time to shower, eat, and sleep."

"And not always do you even do those three things, Antonio."

Antonio's eyes flicked to his friend in tired warning. "Was I mistaken in believing you would drop this subject, or was your apology spur-of-the-moment?"

Shoulders dropped ever so slightly as Francis let out a breath, blue eyes softening. "No," he spoke carefully, "you were not mistaken. I will not press the matter, and I will not lecture you. I'm simply explaining why I look after you like I do."

Antonio pursed his lips as he regarded Francis for a moment. Could he let the spark of anger sprout again? No. He couldn't... He was far too tired to argue, far too exhausted to shout. Thus, he let it go. He relinquished his hold on any of the anger he felt, knowing he did not have the strength to keep his grasp on it. Slightly, he bowed his head, his eyes locked on Francis. "Thank you for caring for me," he spoke softly. "I don't know where I'd be if it weren't for you looking out after me all these years."

A gentle smile tugged at the corners of Francis's lips. His hand reached out to lightly clap his friend's shoulder. "Likewise, mon ami. Likewise."

Oh, he couldn't pass up an opportunity like this. Sure, his heart was still heavy, but he wanted so desperately to turn it around. Thus, he raised a brow and allowed a single playful accusation to leave his lips, "Oh, so you'll gladly take all the credit for caring for me?"

A snort, and a quirk of the lips. "Not what I meant."

Aah, but he could not continue on like this. His mind was far too exhausted. He instead offered a weary smile and a glance to his friend, one of gratitude. The glance he offered in return showed that it had been received. A short clap to his shoulder. "Go wash up now. I will see you with the others."

Antonio nodded in understanding, lifting his hand to give the one on his shoulder a gentle squeeze. And with that, the hand slid from its place. The Frenchman's footsteps carried him out the door, leaving the Spaniard in solitude. In one way, it gave Antonio room to breathe. But in another, it almost felt suffocating. The silence itself was thickening around him, and he almost felt as though he could hardly breathe with it all. He could not stay here. He knew that much, in the very least. The sounds from beyond pulled at him, tugged at his curiosity.

He shan't waste anymore time.

Sucking in a breath, the brunet took his first step forward. It was a heavy, shaky footstep. But it was a step nonetheless. Then there was another. And then another. Until at long last, his feet carried him effortlessly through the door. The sounds grew closer, yet he could not meet with them just yet. As his friend disappeared around the corner, Antonio himself slipped through another door. Tile flooring, a large expansive mirror, and bright light filled his vision. But none of those were what caught his eyes. No, instead, it was his own reflection.

Hollow eyes, sunken cheeks, darkened circles, and a tear-stained face stared right back at him. He hardly recognised himself beyond the more-than-usual disheveled hair and reddened eyes. He drew in a breath and slowly let it out, his shoulders sinking ever so slightly. He couldn't even bear to look himself in the mirror. Not at the moment... He turned his attention to the faucet, flipping it on. Water cascaded down, and he let it fill his cupped palms. Bending down, he went to work wiping away the dried tears.

He straightened once more, eyes flicking to the reflective glass. At little better. At least now he could blame it on exhaustion, rather than crying. Hadn't Gilbert mentioned that he would tell Ludwig that their Spanish friend was sleeping, as well? He hummed at this thought as it echoed through his mind. Sure enough, the German had. As much as Antonio loved his friends, he did not know if that were the best approach. Ludwig already seemed suspicious, and no doubt about it, Miguel knew there was something amiss with his little brother. Running a shaky hand through his hair, Antonio cast his gaze downward. This would be a tough one to talk his way out of, he realised...

Well. No matter...

Steeling his nerves, Antonio drew himself back up and exited from the washroom, soles padding along the flooring. The chipper voice echoing down the hall finally began to form true words. What the conversation was about, he couldn't place, but he could make out something about... a dog? Oh, one of the three dogs must have done something again. His answer came to him as the three beasts rounded the corner, one chasing after the other.

"Bruder!" Antonio could hear from the hall. "Did you really have to let them in?"

"They looked pitiful out there! Why have them locked outside when they could be hanging out with us? They're family, too!"

"Ja, but I—"

"Oh, don't worry about it, Lud," an unfamiliar voice piped up. The same voice from before, Antonio noted. "I'll clean up any mess they make."

Why did his heart pound the way it did? Why did he suddenly feel nervous? Scared? He couldn't be relating this Italian to Lovino; he couldn't possibly. The voice was far too high, too airy. Lovino's was deep, almost nasally. It wasn't as if it sounded the same. No, quite the contrary!

Alright, Antonio, just breathe... Silently, he pushed away his thoughts and steadied his breaths. He had to calm himself, push those memories to the back of his mind. At least until he was safe away in Spain again... He could not dwell on them where he was; it would do him no good. He had not seen Ludwig in years. To throw away a chance like this... where all of them were together once again... He could not bear it. He had to savour it, as best he could. He would be alone in his flat soon enough.

And finally, he rounded the corner and stepped into the dining room.

Ludwig, Francis, and Gilbert all rounded the table, with the latter speaking excitedly of his adventures as he pushed up from his chair. Francis sat with his arms poised gracefully on the table, crossed, and a gentle smile tugging at his lips. Ludwig, on the other hand, sat back in his chair, one hand on the table and another flung over the back. His eyes were elsewhere, not on his brother. Instead, they focused on a form behind him, a lithe figure weaving through the small room.

Antonio's heart stopped the moment he laid eyes upon the owner of this figure.

Curly auburn hair, with one stubborn curl refusing to slick with the rest of the main body. Sharp brow. Thin lips. Petite frame. Antonio's own height, give or take. Pasta in one hand. For a moment, Antonio could have sworn he stared directly at the one who haunted his mind. But the moment amber eyes focused on him, he could not hold that thought.

The gaze was far too different. Curious, light, yet held a sort of knowledge to them. They were eyes that could see the wonders the world had to offer, and then some. They were not burning fires, threatening to scald Antonio if he ventured too close. Rather, they were gentle waves, lulling Antonio into peace and sanctity. They blinked once. Then twice. And then brows furrowed above them, lips turning into a thoughtful pout.

"You're the cat boy."

Cat boy... The words echoed through his head, again and again, yet he could not make sense of it. Antonio's brow, too, furrowed, though it was done in puzzlement. "Cat boy?" he parroted.

The Italian lowered the large pot in his hands, the mitts clutched tightly around its handles. Amber eyes glanced away for only a moment at Ludwig's mention of its designated spot on the table. A soft hum, and he stepped forward, eyes dancing away in favour of paying attention to where he sat the heavy item. "I don't forget faces," he commented with the gentlest of smiles. One mitt was removed, then the other, and a hand rested on Ludwig's shoulder for only a second. "You were the one who helped me with that cat, weren't you?"

And yet, confusion held fast to Antonio. He pursed his lips, and after a moment of silence, slowly shook his head. "I'm afraid I do not know what you're—"

"Venezia," the man spoke with a small huff. One hand on his hip, he gestured the mitts toward the Spaniard. Mild annoyance danced in his eyes. "You helped me down from that tree. I climbed up to get a cat, got the cat, ended up stuck, and you climbed up to help me _and_ the cat down. Romano ran off after that and you stayed to patch me up!"

It came to him in a rush. Each puzzle seemed to click right into place, and Antonio could almost feel his jaw drop as his eyes widened. His lips parted, yet no sound came out. He could recall the tree, and the helpless Italian words. The scratches he proudly wore that day still scarred his skin, having picked at the scabs as they were healing. Faint now, sure, but still silently told a tale of which he could not recall. Not until now.

It was no wonder he felt a sense of familiarity with the name Feli! A groan escaping him, Antonio reached up to slap his face. "Feliciano!" he suddenly recalled. "Ay, dios mío!" After all this time, it was _**Feliciano**_ they had been referring to? That little scared, small Italian he just so happened to cross in his wanderings? Oh, what a small world this was! With an exasperated sigh, Antonio lowered his hand, dragging it across his face. "Sí, sí, I remember you. We spoke through letters after that."

Finally, there was a grin. Lips pulled back to reveal bright teeth and Feliciano straightened, his hands on his hips. "See! I knew I wasn't crazy!" he chirped. Light danced in his eyes as they flicked from each startled, confused face to the next. Amused, he focused his attention back to Antonio. His lips quirked into a small smirk. "You still pronounce my name wrong, _Tonton_." The nickname drew from his lips with a sort of teasing tone.

"Tonton?" Gilbert echoed with a snort, Francis stifling his own giggles at the nickname.

Antonio decided to not regard them for now, focusing on the Italian before him. "Well, when I read the letters, it looked like Feli- _thee_ -ano. I forget your weird Italian ways of _ci_ and _chi_." A beat. "Your English has improved, at least."

"And so has yours."

"So, you have met our little Italian before?" Francis finally questioned, eyes flicking to Antonio as his hand gestured toward the one he mentioned.

Antonio released a sigh and placed himself in the seat to Francis's right, sinking into the chair. A short nod. "A long time ago. I was visiting Venice with Miguel's family and came across Feliciano here," he paused to sweep a hand toward the Italian, "and we became... pen pals, I guess. But then I moved and lost contact with him."

As he spoke, Feliciano excused himself from the dining room, and returned a moment later with the oven mitts missing. They were instead replaced with a few plates, in which he began to place in front of each of the seats, one at a time. "I didn't know about it until about a year after his last letter, I got another one that simply read, 'Antonio does not live here.' I—" A pause. Words seemed to click into place in Feliciano's mind and his brow furrowed, gaze flicking to Antonio. "Miguel's family? Wouldn't that be your family?"

Right... Not everyone knew about that... Breathing out a sigh through his nose, Antonio settled back into his seat and drummed his fingers against the table. How to fully explain that one... It was quite the complicated one... Offering an apologetic smile, Antonio leaned forward and explained, "His mother was my mother's best friend when they were growing up. After his parents died, we took him in. Miguel couldn't... handle his parents' deaths very well, and had a bit of a violent streak. We ended up being separated for that for a while, but I digress.

"Long story short, we're a lot closer now than we have been in years, and are more of brothers in bonds than we are in blood." Oh, but he had not seen his brother ever since Francis had ushered him away into the spare room. His eyes flicked to each of the faces, his back straightening ever so slightly as his elbows remained on the table. "Speaking of Miguel... has anyone seen him?"

Gilbert was the first to speak up. "Does your brother ever hang around for the full time?" he remarked. He gestured toward the door with a flick of the wrist. "He ran off, sayin' he had to do somethin'. Promised he'd be back before dinner was done."

Having finished serving most of the guests, Feliciano paused for a brief moment and regarded them for a moment. His eyes then flicked to one of the remaining empty chairs, then to Antonio again. Then with a shrug, he finished off with his own plate. "Well, if he's not here now, I'm not going to serve him yet. He can grab his own plate if he wants supper," he spoke. A hand on Ludwig's shoulder, he bent down to deliver a small kiss to the German's cheek. "Enjoy~!"

Man, Feliciano really had no reserve when it came to showing affection... And judging by the way Ludwig refused to comment on it, it was something that was entirely common in the household, though the pink tinge was indication of another story. Perhaps, Antonio mused, one that told of never having guests who could see such displays of affection. Or maybe he was reading far too into it... Either way, it served as a welcomed distraction and he allowed for the smallest of smiles to grace his lips.

Eyes flicking between the two as the guests began serving themselves, Antonio decided to pipe up with a question, "How long have you two known each other?" Curiosity killed the cat, they always said.

Feliciano, who had placed himself across from Antonio, pursed his lips, eyes flicking to Ludwig before averting to the ceiling in thought, brows furrowing. Something about the way they did so was all too familiar, and Antonio could feel the twinge deep within. "Almost three years?"

The German nodded in confirmation. "Closer to two and a half," he corrected, eyes flicking between Antonio and his lover.

"But we didn't start dating until about a year ago," Feliciano cut in again, finally taking the serving spoon for himself.

"Kind of hard to do so with distance," Ludwig commented. "Feliciano still lives in Italy. It took a long time to convince him to even visit the first time."

A huff from the Italian and the man straightened in his chair, squaring his shoulders. His chin tilted skyward, a defiant look on his face. "Hey, I had things to take care of, Lud!"

"Alright, alright, calm down," the German spoke with a small smile. "You're here now. So you gave in eventually."

It wasn't a fire that Antonio saw in Feliciano. No, even when he stood resilient against the teasing, even when he squared his shoulders and made himself seem bigger than he was, the Spaniard just could not compare it to a flame. It wasn't the same as the Italian he had been with in the past week. This one was different. This one, while just as strong, had a different spark to him. It was confirmed, then, that Antonio could indeed relate this one to the crashing waves. Gentle and nostalgic at times, but could be strong and unrelenting at others.

And Ludwig had clearly been swept away in its current.

That gentle smile, that serene gaze... It was unmistakable. It was as though Ludwig were an entirely different person from the scrawny boy from Antonio's memories. Scared, frightened, unsure of himself and his surroundings... Antonio could remember this kind of lad, the one fearful of adventure and straying too far. Up until his teen years, Ludwig refused to ever leave Gilbert's side - and Gilbert would much rather die than to deny his brother of his much-needed presence.

Seeing this kind of serenity in Ludwig now, it helped Antonio breathe. The scared little boy from so long ago had faded away, leaving only the strong, unmovable mountain that was Ludwig. Yet it seemed that even as strong of a mountain as Ludwig was, the jutting rocks still sloped into a shore where the waves could meet it in peace.

As they talked among one another, Antonio could only watch the small gestures each presented, though he could not keep his mind on the words they spoke. Francis and Gilbert each added in their two cents of stories and jokes, yet Antonio remained silent as he savoured the taste of the pasta cooked for them. It reminded him, perhaps, of the meal he had with Lovino, of the delicious aromas that had wafted around the house and the conversation of his grandfather. The words of reassurance Antonio had spoken, and the grateful glance Lovino had given him... His eyes cast downward for a brief moment, having lost sight of where he sat now.

The pasta was not the same as it was a few days ago, he noted. It was a red sauce, yes, but there weren't as many spices used. It had a sweeter taste to it, and the noodles themselves were thinner. Yet it was oddly reminiscent... It was just because it was pasta, he silently argued with himself. It was a red sauce, with spices and noodles. Just like Lovino's. Just like many Italian dishes.

Oh, but the song that reached his ears moments later, a light and airy voice carrying its words... his heart stopped at the lyrics that flowed through the air.

          _"Una notte a Napoli_  
               _Con la luna ed il mare_  
                    _Ho incontrato un angelo  
__Che non poteva più volar. . ."_

Instantly, Antonio's head snapped up. Wide eyes stared at Feliciano, jaw slack. No, he couldn't be hearing that song. It had to be a different one, it couldn't have been the same one. But oh, the music filled his mind, the sensation filled his body. He could hear the crackle of the old speakers, hear the waves upon the shore. He could feel the sand shifting beneath his feet, the nipping of the cooling night around him. And most of all, he could see fiery eyes, feel the warmth from them enfolding him whenever another body brushed against his own.

          _"Una notte a Napoli_  
               _Delle stelle si scordò_  
                    _E anche senza ali  
__In cielo mi portò. . ."_

Even amid the laughter and joking that came after, Antonio could not find the joy. He could only watched in astonished silence as Feliciano rested a hand on Ludwig's shoulder, commenting on a former memory regarding the song. Something about a dance, though Antonio couldn't be too sure; the lyrics still echoed through his mind, drowning out the meaning behind Feliciano's words.

"Feliciano...?" Antonio called in a voice barely above a whisper. Eyes adverted to him, yet he only looked to the pair of curious ambers. He felt numb. Yet at the same time, he felt as though he were trembling. The world seemed far too cold around him, as though winter had set in. As though that fire had left him in the middle of a blizzard. The smile Feliciano had worn, he noted, had faded entirely from the man's face as the brows furrowed in concern. "What... What song is that...?"

The Italian glanced to Ludwig for a moment before sinking back toward his own chair, the hand leaving the German's shoulder. He then looked back to Antonio, confusion evident on his features. Yet his eyes held suspicion and carefully-hidden understanding. "Una Notte A Napoli. A night in Naples. It's a song by—"

"What's it about?" He hadn't meant to cut the other off.

Slight hesitation, and Feliciano's bottom lip tucked under his teeth for a brief moment. It seemed he opted to instead translate for the Spaniard.

          _"One night in Naples_  
               _With the moon and the sea_  
                    _I met an angel  
__That could no longer fly_

          _"One night in Naples_  
               _She forgot the stars_  
                    _And even without wings  
__She took me to Heaven"_

And there it was. The confirmation. A heavy weight dropped upon Antonio's shoulders and all he could do was sit back in his chair, defeated. The fork still lay in his hand, yet he could not find the will to eat. No, he was not hungry. His stomach refused food, his lips refused to open. He could not find the strength to even lift his forkful of pasta. Stupid... He was so stupid... He breathed out a sigh through his nose, his eyes sliding closed. He could hear the shifting of Francis beside him, yet he decided to not pay it any true attention.

Brow furrowing and the corners of his lips tugging down, Antonio spoke, "Lovino." The name rung out through the quiet dining room. "You're Lovino's brother." It was not a question. It was an observation, a conclusion. He should have seen the signs, but oh, love and grief both had kept him blind. An Italian in Germany... Visits to Germany in the past year... A missed birthday... The familiar texture and taste of the sauce... The ginger hair, the shape of the jaw, the narrow shoulders, the stubborn curly locks... It all fell into place, like a puzzle completing itself. He was so stupid to not see the signs.

"Sì..." Feliciano answered quietly, though it was not needed. It was only spoken confirmation, an undeniable truth at this point. "He... wasn't born as Lovino... but... Yes, I am."

He could feel tears fill his eyes, yet he refused to let them fall. No, not here. Not now. Just when he thought he was free from all this, he now had another thing to worry about. A solemn laugh escaped his lips and he swept a shaky hand through his locks. At least now he could move... "Feliciano." He hardly noticed that he had pronounced the name correctly. "He even called you _Feliciano_ , for crying out loud. He said your name, and I still..."

A brief silence. Then barely above a whisper, Feliciano questioned, "You're the Spaniard, aren't you...? The one Romano talked about on the phone..."

Emerald eyes flicked up to meet with Feliciano's. They then glanced to Ludwig, to see realisation then dawning on the German's expression. Antonio regarded Feliciano with a wary expression. "He spoke about me?" Perhaps he was a bit curious. Perhaps he was skeptical. Perhaps, even, he was scared. Terrified of what Lovino had told his younger brother...

Eyes locked with the Spaniard's, Feliciano nodded.

He couldn't hold the question in. "What did he say...?"

At this, the corners of Feliciano's lips curled upward. He lowered his fork, ever so slightly, as his shoulders sloped. Slight amusement danced in his eyes. "Not exactly fond things, but close enough," he answered. "He complained that you were taking up his shower, and hogging his spare room. Said you were an idiot for knocking him into the ocean, too, and complained about needing to shower again."

All these events, Antonio noted, had happened at different times. Different days, even. He could feel his cheeks flush at the memory of them. Yet he cast his eyes down, feeling the guilt creep in not a moment later. He had been a burden to the Italian the entire time, it seemed. If Lovino complained about him that much... He had simply seen it the wrong way, he concluded. The hospitality of a Southern Italian, perhaps, was the only thing that allowed for Lovino to let him shower. The inability to turn away a hungry guest, and a kindness too strong to shove a stranger into the rainy night. All those circumstances were simply by sheer politeness. Obligation.

"My brother doesn't complain about people like that if he didn't care about them, you know."

Antonio's gaze returned to Feliciano in an instant. The Italian took a moment to eat a forkful of his dinner, the mischief twinkling in his eyes. The Spaniard's brows furrowed, his lips drawing together in careful confusion.

Twirling his fork in the air, Feliciano began to speak once again, "He has a funny way of showing he cares about something. At least to me." He paused for a brief moment to glance skyward, then to Ludwig. He gestured to the large man beside him. "He still complains about Lud, but Romano's always taken everything with a grain of salt. Protects him from getting too excited about things, I guess? Or maybe a form of sibling rivalry, I dunno."

His eyes returned to Antonio, who only listened on in curiosity. "Whenever he talks about things he likes, it's always with a bad attitude. Complaining about one thing or another. But there's a difference between complaining and ranting.

"He _rants_ about people he hates; he _complains_ about people he loves. If that makes sense."

Antonio tossed the phrase around in his mind again and again, before he began to relate it back to the prior conversations he had with the elder Italian. And sure enough, the phrase held true. All the times the Italian would speak of his brother, it was always ill words coated with fondness. Yet it seemed to just... work for Lovino. It was never in an angered way, it was never truly anything major. It was always with a certain kind of fondness beyond petty complaints.

Slowly, Antonio nodded his head, his eyes on Feliciano. He no longer felt the need to allow the tears to fall; they had subsided, much to his relief. Now, he could only feel interest in whatever the younger Italian had to say. "Sí, it makes sense. He often spoke of you like that."

Feliciano blinked in astonishment, sitting up straighter in his chair. He seemed to be taken aback by the words, yet unable to produce any of his own.

It was Francis, instead, who chuckled and spoke for him, "He is right. Out of any of us at the table, I think he complains the most about you, Feli."

"You know," Gilbert piped up from the other side of Feliciano, brows furrowed and lips pursed. He crossed his arms, and motioned toward his brother with a nod of the head. "You'd think he'd have more to say about this big lug here, but I think Franny has—"

"Francis."

"— a point. He complains more about you than even Bruder."

Feliciano glanced between each of them in turn, stunned into silence. His brows furrowed, and quietly, he shook his head. But for the next few moments, while each one spoke their own words of agreement, Feliciano could not speak. When he could, the first words out of his mouth were, "No, no, it's not like that." The table quieted and all eyes were on him. He sunk into his chair, worried eyes flicking between each familiar face. "You don't understand... Romano... Romano has a huge grudge against me. He tolerates me, because I'm his brother, but—"

Another voice picked up, from beyond the dining room's doorway, "Oh that's B.S. and you know it." All eyes turned to watch as the Portuguese man made his entrance once again, a bag in his hand. He set the bag next to Antonio's chair and gave a few pats to his brother's shoulder. His eyes, however, were focused solely on Feliciano. "Now, I don't know this Romano-Lovino guy, but brothers stick together." He remained right where he was, standing proudly behind Antonio's chair. "Even if we fight, even if we hold grudges, even if we declare that we hate each other, one or the other will end up crawling right back anyway. Just a matter of time is all."

Antonio knew exactly who Miguel was referring to. He could feel the hand resting on his shoulder, and knew where the next would be resting; on the back of the chair. He glanced up to his brother, and let out a quiet sigh. Sure enough, no matter how many fights he and Miguel would go through, no matter how much they declared to hate the other, they would always find their way back, somehow. Regardless of circumstance.

Still, it seemed that Feliciano wasn't entirely convinced, and that did not settle well with Antonio. He had comforted one Italian brother. Now it was time to comfort the other. He offered a kind smile toward the small Italian. "He spoke of you a lot when I was with him. He hardly said your name, but he mentioned you more times than I care to count," he commented. "He doesn't just put up with you, Feliciano. He takes care of you, as best he can from where he is."

His gaze softened, his head bowing ever so slightly. He kept his voice quiet, out of respect. "I heard the story. With the kind of person Lovino is, Feliciano, do you really think he'd put his life on the line for someone he hates, that willingly?" He dared not to comment more about it. He didn't even dare to comment on what story he spoke of. He knew that Feliciano no doubt would understand. but whether or not any of the others knew of it... Well, he couldn't say that he knew. He could only stay on the safe side.

Tears welled in Feliciano's eyes, and a small smile pulled at his lips. "I guess not," he replied quietly. Oh, but that smile was gone, and he glanced toward Ludwig. The two exchanged looks, and Feliciano quietly looked to Antonio again. "But that was before Nonno Romolo died. Romano told you about him, didn't he?"

Antonio nodded.

Feliciano glanced to the plate as he picked at his food. Only the hand that reached for his own stopped him from doing so. He dropped the fork and turned his palm upward, lacing his fingers between Ludwig's. "Romano was angry at me for not finding him when Nonno was hospitalised. And again, he was angry for the trip Nonno set up for us. At the time, he saw it as celebrating his death, not as our grandfather treating us after passing."

Trip... Antonio had heard nothing of a trip, not that he could recall. His brow furrowed, and his lips turned down in confusion. He leaned forward, ever so slightly, and parroted, "Trip?"

"A cruise," Ludwig answered for his lover. He gave the hand a gentle squeeze and tenderly brought it toward him. "Mister Romolo paid for a cruise, with his life's savings, just before he died. Feliciano told me all about it. I was an engineer on the ship, and Feliciano needed an ear to listen. I provided one."

Feliciano nodded in confirmation, eyes once again flicking to Antonio. He allowed for the thumb to gently rub against his own, giving a gentle squeeze in return. "Romano wasn't happy we even went on that cruise. But he was even angrier that I kept spending time with Lud. We got into a big fight during the trip, and Romano and I parted ways. I found Ludwig, and Romano..." His body stiffened slightly, and his cheeks dusted pink. Amber eyes glanced to Ludwig in embarrassment. "And when Romano found me again, I was, uhm... I was kissing Ludwig at the rear of the ship."

Ludwig, cheeks darkened, cleared his throat and glanced away. "Entirely unplanned. I wanted to make him feel better, and I don't know how that translated to, erm, that," he defended.

The Italian offered Antonio a small, apologetic smile at this and continued his story, "We had another fight, and then refused to talk to me after that. Not until the cruise ended. He got over it, more or less, but every now and then, we argue about something regarding it... He doesn't like how quickly I got over Nonno Romolo's death or something..." The way he mentioned the death, however, was indicative enough that he was not indeed "over" the death of his grandfather. "We fight a lot more than we used to, that's for sure..."

It almost confused Antonio, really, just how much he was hearing of the story. He had never even heard how Feliciano had met Ludwig; simply that he was visiting Germany a lot. Hell, the Spaniard had never even heard of the cruise until now! But, he supposed that was the answer to Feliciano's troubles. Rolling his shoulders, Antonio leaned forward to place his elbows on the table, the hand slipping from his shoulder.

"I still don't think he's angry at you for that," he commented. He could still feel his brother's presence behind him, and sure enough, the two hands squeezing his shoulders was proof enough for him. They seemed to be trying to get his attention, with their constant touches, but for now, he dismissed the notion. "Lovino never mentioned the cruise. Not even once." A pause, and his eyes flicked to Francis and Gilbert both. Should he speak of the conversations he had with the Italian...? He didn't know. His heart still ached, and he was so very tired. He wanted nothing more than to just leave the table, his hunger having long since been lost. Nonetheless, he felt he had to comfort the younger one, and thus his gaze ended up at the Italian once more. "You want to know what he said, actually?"

Feliciano looked on in careful interest, his head tilting ever so slightly. The thumb had stilled, yet the hands remained connected. He did not speak; his actions were enough.

A gentle smile found its way on Antonio's lips, his body relaxing. "'He deserves his life,' he told me. Just last night. And a few nights ago, he said, 'At least Ludwig' - okay so he said 'bastard' but I'm paraphrasing here - 'has done some good for my brother. At least he's happy.'" It slowly sparked in his mind. Lovino complained, too, about Antonio, himself. He breathed out a sigh through his nose, eyes flicking downward. Just as he had complained about Ludwig, and Feliciano, he had complained about Antonio.

God, he missed that fire...

He shoved the thought aside for now and glanced back up, his smile a tad more forced than before. "He treasures you, you know... Talked about you all the time. Even said he wanted you to be happy. He doesn't hate you, he doesn't have a grudge on you. Nobody would talk about their brother like that if they didn't care for them," he spoke gently. He forced his smile into a cheeky grin. "You said so yourself. There's a difference between ranting and complaining."

For a moment, Feliciano was silent, simply staring at Antonio. Careful contemplation, and a mix of emotions, surged through his eyes. They flicked to each and every face in the room, including Miguel's, before they landed on Ludwig. And finally, there was a smile. It was brighter than all the rest, and his shoulders seemed to sink with it. He squeezed the hand he held, and lifted it to his lips. He pressed one, two, three kisses before pulling it to his chest, where he held it with both hands. Ludwig, too, seemed to be more content with this display of affection, no doubt knowing the meaning behind each and every kiss.

In a way, Antonio felt rather... envious, he supposed the word was. A relationship as beautiful as Ludwig's and Feliciano's... It was as though he were staring at a painting upon the wall of a museum. He could see the love flowing between the two, the unbridled affection in every gesture, every glance. It almost hurt to look at...

The hands, he noted, had not left his shoulders. The conversation continued on, with stories of band camp. Apparently, according to Feliciano, the brothers had partook in the activities throughout the education. And though Antonio wanted to listen to the interesting stories, he found he could not, for there was a voice at his ears.

"You did not tell me you fell in love, little Toni," Miguel spoke gently.

Oh, if Miguel couldn't find a worse time... Antonio's lips drew into a thin line as he solemnly glanced to his brother. He folded his hands, and regarded each of the other guests. They were too far enthralled in the exciting tale Feliciano told of the three Italians sneaking away from their lessons to even notice the two brothers speaking to one another. Antonio offered his sibling an apologetic smile. _"There is not much to tell... I found an angel, he took me to Heaven, and I fell at my highest point. I crashed back to Earth, brother,"_ he answered, switching his language to Spanish as to avoid the others overhearing. _"I am still recovering from the fall..."_

Miguel's gaze softened, his hands loosening on the younger's shoulders. But he did not move from his spot, did not pull away. He remained right where he was, gaze flicking between each of Antonio's eyes. _"So that is why you are broken and stumbling about like a fool with no usable legs..."_

Antonio hated the comparison, having to glance away momentarily. The smile fell from his lips.

The elder wrapped his arms slowly, cautiously, around his brother and pulled him into a gentle hug. _"It is okay to be broken, Antonio. But do not try to carry all the pieces by yourself..."_ he whispered. _"You are only human. And while you may live alone, you are not alone. You never are. Everyone is here for you. I am included in that."_

The Spaniard breathed out a sigh and let his hands slip from the table, landing gently in his lap. His eyes closed, not wanting to see the plate of red pasta before him. No, his heart hurt too much for it, now... _"I wish I could trust enough in order to let you all in... But as it is right now, Miguel, I can't even trust myself..."_ Fearful. That was the only word that rang through his mind. He was terrified of not just others, but of himself. It was a cruel reality he had so blissfully forgotten, until he had stepped on that plane earlier in the day. And now, he could not rid himself of it. True. It had crept in the back of his mind, during his happier moments, but now it screamed at him. Laughed at him. Drowned him.

And once again, he could feel himself slipping under the waves. The waves that would lull him to sleep now filled not just his ears, but his lungs and suffocated him. The world grew black around him, black and blurred, as though looking through smoked glass. Yet somehow, through it all, he still sat right where he was. He felt as though he were slipping, but the hold on his body remained just as stable as it always had.

Cautiously, fearful that they may disappear before he could reach them, Antonio lifted his hands. But as he gently grasped the arms, he realised that they did not vanish as he believed they would. They were right there, holding him, and at the feel of his fingers, they tightened their hold. He could feel kisses pressed against his temple, hidden within disheveled locks of hair. The conversations from all around them fell mute upon his ears. He did not care for them, nor the laughter and excited babble. He only cared for the arms around him. His brother.

That's right... Miguel had mentioned it earlier. 'Brothers stick together.' Even through all their rough times, through the fights that literally tore them apart, they remained standing. And if one fell, the other would be there to pick them back up. He found a smile gracing his lips at this realisation. Perhaps he couldn't trust himself or others. But at least he could confide in them, just as he had been this whole time, and hope they would be there in the end.

Letting out a breath, Antonio gently squeezed the arms around him. "Thank you," he whispered, switching his language once more to English. "I'm alright. I'll be okay. I promise." And that was something he could promise. He had made it this far, afterall. And one day, he was sure he would learn how to swim again.

But there was one more thing he needed to clear up. A memory that he haunted him since that fateful night, that would draw back again and again. Eyes that glistened in the moon's pale light, olive skin that reflected bits of light just as the ocean before them.

Antonio lifted his head just as the older pulled away, listening as the footsteps placed Miguel in the chair to his right. His eyes, however, did not return to his brother. Instead, they were on Feliciano. "Feliciano," he spoke up, the lisp on the 'ci' just as prominent as before. This, thankfully, caught the Italian's attention. He had to tread carefully, he noted... The man was in high spirits, his plate nearly finished now.

God, perhaps he should have waited... No, he needed to address it while the matter was still fresh in his mind. He could not back down. "A week ago, I stood on the beach and there was... an angel standing atop a balcony," he chose his words carefully, though it seemed that Feliciano already knew of whom he spoke. "He was crying." Feliciano did not move. "I only noticed him because I heard a song."

The colour drained from Feliciano's face, his lips forming a thin line. His eyes widened, ever so slightly, and he stared in disbelief. A thousand and one emotions ran through his eyes, whipping up a storm. Those gentle, lulling waves were slowly evolving into a spiraling whirlpool. A rip tide, even. "A song...?"

Antonio nodded.

Within an instant, Feliciano was to his feet, the chair's legs screeching across the tile. His palms pressed flat against the table, frightened eyes glancing to his lover, to Francis, then to Antonio. They locked with green irses, refusing to look away. "Was he singing?" he spat out rapidly, almost to the point where Antonio couldn't catch it.

The brunet could only feel a cold pit in his stomach. He knew that it would be heavy, but for it to be this much so...? His brow creased and he could feel fear settling in, a wariness surrounding him. "I—"

"Was he singing?" Feliciano demanded again, his words slower and clearer.

Again, Antonio nodded, the motion slower. Feliciano's motions were not as such.

Quickly, the Italian rounded the table, murmuring a small 'excuse me' and an apology to Ludwig as he passed. He gently patted at Antonio's arm, silently begging him to stand and follow. A quick tug to the sleeve, and Antonio, though confused, obliged. "I need to talk to you," the Italian murmured urgently. "Now."

And just like that, Antonio was ushered to the hallway, leaving behind the rest of the guests in silence. Feliciano lead him a few more steps away from the doorway before spinning on his heel to face the elder. Fearful eyes glanced between each of Antonio's. Lips parted, again and again, yet nothing came out. He seemed to fight for words, yet was at a complete and total loss for them. The younger glanced away, and swore in Italian as he raked a hand through his hair. He paced for a few moments, his hands wringing together as he struggled to find the words.

And all Antonio could do was watch, for a silent minute. His whole body trembled, and he felt that he could hardly breathe. He wanted to reach out and stop Feliciano from his pacing, but oh, he did not know if that would be alright of him. He did not know the Italian. To reach out for him, to touch him... He did not know if it would overload the poor boy, who already seemed to have too much anxiety at the current moment. "Feliciano," he spoke sternly, yet in a gentle tone. "Feliciano, stop for a moment, okay?" Surprisingly, the Italian listened, amber eyes flicking to him.

Antonio held his palms out to the other, gingerly stepping forward. The other showed no signs of discomfort with this action. "Slow down, alright? Everything's going to be alright. If you have something to say, take your time, there's no rush," he reassured carefully. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm right here. Just take your time. Breathe."

Feliciano regarded him for a moment before heaving out a sigh, his shoulders sagging as his arms dropped to his sides. Still, the concern did not fade from his eyes, nor did the fear. A few seconds passed as emotions flickered through the other's eyes. "When you saw him crying... what... what time was it?"

"Nighttime. I, uh, I can't be too sure... I was drunk, so I... I didn't see the time."

The Italian nodded, gaze averting as more questions raced through his mind. "Right. Right... Okay..." He wrung his hands together for another brief moment, swallowed, then focused his attention back to Antonio. "Do you... know what he was singing?"

Antonio shook his head. "Lo siento, pero no. It was Italian. I think..."

Feliciano glanced away again, brow furrowing. "What happened then? Did you just... Did you just stand there, or...?"

"Until he saw me, yeah."

"Then...?"

"Then he went inside." A beat. "He looked... angry...? No, ashamed."

Another nod as Feliciano considered the words. His head tilted ever so slightly, and eyes were back on Antonio. They were gentler this time, remorseful. "Romano doesn't like his singing. He... doesn't sing unless there's something wrong..." he finally told the other, quietly. He shuffled where he stood, nervously looking away as a hand reached up to play with the locks at the back of his neck. "He, uh... He sings to calm himself down. He doesn't... have a very good hold on uhm... On emotions and... And..." Feliciano drew in a breath, and slowly let it out. "Thoughts... He has... thoughts... And singing, well, singing distracts him."

Oh.

"Which is... Which is why I'm, uhm..."

_Oh._

"Why I'm asking."

The realisation slowly dawned over Antonio, washed over him like a tidal wave. God, he was so stupid to not see the signs of it. It was right there in front of his face! How could he have missed it? He could have sworn, he felt so angry with himself. He had those exact same signs, those exact same habits. And the way Lovino tread so carefully... God, Lovino knew about it! Lovino had seen it, so why didn't he?! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"He hides it really well, so... So I don't... think anyone knows, but..."

Those romance novels weren't just for wishful thinking and daydreams! The cleanliness of the house wasn't just out of sheer boredom! The dimmed lights, the shy mannerisms, the downsizing of the severity of emotions, the carefully chosen words, the raging storm, the underlying downplaying of one's own personality and past... God, all the signs were _right there!_ He should've noticed the fear, should've noticed the desperation, should've noticed the silent cries for help...

It was Antonio's turn to swear, Antonio's turn to rake his hands through his hair, Antonio's turn to pace. Both hands tugged at the strands as Spanish profanities left his lips, feet padding against the floor. His eyes flicked to the Heavens above, a silent prayer released with his gaze, a prayer for Lovino's safety. He could almost laugh, it was so insanely obvious. God, if he weren't such a dunce, he would have picked up on it, on those same signs that he, himself, exhibited!

God, depression was a sneaky son of a bitch.

To think it was hiding in the shadows of Lovino's home, lurking and giggling at Antonio with every missed signal... Silencing Lovino's every plea... God, it boiled his blood. Twisted his stomach, and stopped his heart. An angel with such a demon preying after it... It was absolutely no wonder Lovino had let him in so quickly. It was no wonder Antonio found himself so drawn to Lovino. Because even with all their differences, even with their clashing personalities, they fought the same demons, they experienced the same turmoil.

Together, Antonio realised, they had fought off the darkness, given each other a distraction, a light much similar to the moon that had shone down upon both of them that fateful night. And now that distraction, for the both of them, was gone. The demon was preparing to strike, readying itself to close in on the both of them. It was baring its fangs, and Antonio had been entirely blind to it, due to his own ignorant bliss.

A gentle hand on his arm stopped his pacing and Antonio snapped out of his thoughts. He glanced to Feliciano, lowering his arms.

Amber hues were filled with desperation and fear. "Antonio, what happened? Why do you look so guilty whenever we mention Romano?" he questioned. His voice was stern, resolute, yet his eyes were timid. His heart was terrified. "You're scaring me, Antonio... What happened to my brother? What did you do?"

The blood drained from Antonio's face. The night before echoed within his mind, replaying again and again. His heartbeat stilled, his breathing shallow. He had told Francis, sure, but trying to tell _Lovino's brother?_ How could he possibly...? "I... We..." Oh, God... He swallowed thickly, his body trembling ever so slightly. It was the only thing he could possibly think of, the only reason for Lovino to act in such a way. He glanced away, wringing his hands together. "We, we were drunk, and... And I... I tainted him..." he spoke quietly. "I... I think... I took his virginity, or hurt him, or... Or... I don't... I don't know..."

Silence.

God, it was deafening... Antonio could feel the eyes on him, yet there were no words. No sounds. No movement. He drew in a shaky breath, waiting for the reprimand, waiting for the shouting. Nothing.

Finally, he glanced up. What he saw, he did not expect. it was not anger, it was not rage, it was not betrayal. It wasn't even confusion. No, it was simply just a blank expression. As if Feliciano didn't even believe him, as if he couldn't even process the information, perhaps. Antonio glanced away. "I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean to..."

"Did he really tell you he was a virgin?"

What? Antonio glanced to Feliciano, his brow furrowing. He parted his lips to reply, yet he found the words dying in his throat. There was a slight frown on Feliciano's face, annoyance flickering in his eyes. Now that he thought about it... No, he had not been told that Lovino was a virgin... They hadn't even really brushed upon the topic...

Slowly, Antonio shook his head. "Well, no, I..."

Feliciano regarded Antonio with suspicion, the annoyance slowly escalating to irritation. He shifted his weight, his hands at his sides. His gaze was colder than before, his eyes sharper. His voice was stern and unafraid, his body rigid. "I know for a fact my brother's no virgin. Far from it."

That would explain the surprising talents behind the Italian's tongue and body...

"Antonio, I swear to God, if you forced my brother into anything—"

"¿Que? N-no, it's not like that!" Antonio defended, lifting his hands and taking a step back. His brows furrowed and he quickly explained himself, "I didn't force him into anything! _He_ came onto _me!_ I have no idea who started the kiss, but _he_ was the one who pushed it further and started it! I swear!" He tried his hardest, despite his rushed words, to keep as quiet as possible. He didn't want his friends to overhear, much less his brother. God, if his brother heard him... He'd never hear the end of it!

He forced a lopsided smile. "I would _never_ hurt him. Not purposefully." He had already made that promise not to, afterall... Slowly, he lowered his hands, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Oh, but he had hurt him, hadn't he? The smile soon faded from his lips, though it was Feliciano who had sighed.

It was a sigh of mild irritation, yet there was relief intermixed. His arms crossed in front of him, his weight shifting to one foot. He regarded Antonio with the same stern gaze, however. "Then that can't be it. You didn't hurt him, and you didn't take his virginity. He's not angry about that, I can promise you. Usually he gloats about things like that, not angered by them," he spoke evenly. "How long ago was this?"

Oh. Oh right... The day had been so long, it hardly seemed like the night before. His lips drew into a thin line and he quietly answered, "Last night. I... left in the morning... He wanted me out... So..."

Feliciano nodded in understanding, his gaze softening. He seemed to be unsurprised, however, by just how recent these events were. He motioned for Antonio to follow, leading him down the hall and toward the room he had previously been in with Francis. "I want to hear all about it. From the moment you saw him, until you left on a plane this morning." A beat. "Just skip the sex part."

That was going to take a while... At least, he mused, they had all night. He wasn't due for another plane ride just yet. Thus, he followed the smaller Italian into the room and allowed for the door to close behind them. He decided, on his own, to take up residence on the bed, leaning back and letting his head hang behind his shoulders. For a moment, he simply just stared at the ceiling while Feliciano took his own spot next to him.

Where to even begin...

He supposed the beginning was a good start.

He told Feliciano of all that he could recall, at that point in time. He told him of his trip at the bar, of bringing Gilbert home, of venturing on his own to the beach. He explained, in as much detail as he could, about the events that happened at the beach, answering any question that Feliciano posed to him. He explained that it was well beyond midnight before he returned, yet he found himself pausing for a moment.

He had yet to ask his own question regarding that night. His eyes glanced to his old friend. He wanted answers, and damnit, he was going to get them. "Why was he crying that night?" he asked at long last. "You seem to know more about it than I do..."

Feliciano looked away, focusing instead on the floor at their feet. His brow furrowed, and slowly he shook his head. "It was a normal fight, I think... He called me to talk about the interview he had the next day, and things just escalated. We both... said some things we shouldn't have. But I... don't even remember what was said," he answered quietly. No, it wasn't that Feliciano couldn't remember. Antonio could see it in the Italian's eyes; he didn't want to repeat those words. Nevertheless, he let the man finish his own story, having already told his, "I apologised a few days later, as did he. We're okay now. He was bummed about not getting the job, but I wished him luck on the next one. So... I think it's okay now."

Antonio nodded, and gave the other's shoulder a gentle squeeze. He offered a kind smile as soon as amber eyes met his. "You did the right thing. Something Miguel and I still have to learn." It was so much better, he realised, then just letting the emotions die out, only to pretend it had never happened. Oh, but Miguel and Antonio were both such prideful men... It was too difficult for either of them to say, 'I was wrong.'

Aah, but he still had a story to tell. Thus, when his hand returned to his side, he continued his tale.

He continued on with the telling of his venture to the market, of the collision and loss of tomatoes. He even mentioned the men that had been chasing Lovino, much to Feliciano's worry. He explained the time after that, of the meal they ate together and the playful banter, the twisted ankle and how Antonio had lead him back home before heading back to the apartment. He told of how he had to cover for the loss of tomatoes, and explain that he had met up with the 'angel' once again, earning a chuckle from Feliciano at the comparison.

He skipped to the meeting on the beach, of the guitar and mention of various instruments, and how Lovino had lied to him about not knowing how to play guitar. Fondly, he recalled the water fight, the swearing, and timidly added on knocking Lovino down only to help him back up. He even mentioned that as the starting point of wanting to be closer to Lovino, though it felt like much sooner than that. He finished up the day with the departure at the door, the promise to teach Lovino how to play the guitar he had left with him.

He spoke of the rainy day, of arriving to find Lovino looking like a complete mess, of his hospitality. He mentioned the dried laundry, the shower, and the supper. The way Lovino flinched at thunder, and the story Lovino had told of his grandfather. While he had not retold the story, he had indeed mentioned it. He decided to tread carefully for he knew of the aching heart when it came to lost family. That was all too evident with Gilbert, who no longer allowed for the old man to even be mentioned in conversation... Deciding not to get into that, Antonio continued, wrapping up his story for that day with the telling of Lovino's allowance of Antonio sleeping in the same bed.

He retold the comfort of the morning, of the breakfast, the call, and the patio. Though he was hesitant at first, he confirmed his knowledge of the loss of the brothers' parents. It was there that he paused, recalling another brother in the tale. He could not recall the name, yet he knew there was another that Lovino often mentioned. Perhaps not as much as Feliciano, but most certainly, he was there in the tales.

Curious eyes flicked to Feliciano, and another question left his lips, "Where is your brother...? The younger one?"

Feliciano looked surprised for a moment, before curious. "Romeo?" A nod. "He's with our uncles." A beat, and a sheepish smile. "Kind of uncles... They're friends of the family. Uncle Sadık runs a small wine company in Turkey. Uncle Heracles lives with him. They don't... exactly see eye-to-eye all the time, but... They agreed to take in Romeo until he's of age." The Italian rolled his shoulders. "It was in Nonno Romolo's will, and they showed the government their determination to help raise him. Fought tooth and nail for the custody, and won it, surprisingly. Romeo has dual citizenship with Turkey and Italy now, courtesy of some higher-ups who helped Nonno keep us."

It was fascinating, hearing about the complexity of the Italian family. He had known how his own worked, but to hear more about Lovino's, about Feliciano's... It was far too curious for him. He wanted to ask more, but alas, he still had a story to finish. And judging by the expectant look on Feliciano's face, he was silently urging for him to continue.

Thus, he did.

He mentioned the tomatoes, and the playful banter, and the relaxed position Lovino had taken up in front of him. He mentioned how they both decided to take a trip to the beach, and the music that had played. Feliciano, suspicious, had asked what, exactly, had played, and Antonio furrowed his brow. He could not remember the lyrics, but the beat, the way it played... He instead hummed the cheery tune and bounced his finger in time to the beat. As he hummed, laughter came from Feliciano, causing for him to stop. He looked to him in question, scrutinising him for a moment.

The laughter dying down, Feliciano waved his hand in dismissal. "Scusa, scusa!" he spoke cheerfully. "It's just— O mamma mia, he was really playing you! Wrapping around his finger, aa santo cielo!" Another fit of laughter, and Feliciano wiped a tear from his eye. "Any Italian would've known that, but oh, I didn't know he'd actually get a Spaniard with it!" An all-too-amused gaze met a bemused one. "Remember the cruise?"

Antonio nodded, dumbfounded.

"Aa, oh Romano... Romano, Romano, Romano..." A chuckle as he leaned back in his spot. "Before I give it away, what was another song that played? Name just one and I'll know for sure what it was."

How could he possibly know the name...? He only knew what Lovino had told him. He frowned, shaking his head. "I, uh... I don't..." He recalled the airy voice, the singing that had echoed at the table. "The one you sung, today."

"Una Notte A Napoli!"

Antonio nodded, and once again, Feliciano burst out in a fit of giggles. Antonio, however, could feel his heart sink. He could not feel the cheer behind that song, nor the one he had hummed. He could only think of the dances, of the intimacy and warmth. He adverted his gaze, yet the giggles did not stop.

"I'm sorry for laughing, Antonio, but..."

The voice caught his attention, as did the hand on his arm. He glanced up to find a sincere smile directed toward him.

"You were set up. That wasn't the radio. Those songs don't play on any stations in Napoli," Feliciano explained. "Pink Martini is an American band that played on the cruise. Una Notte A Napoli was in a film about a gay university student in South Italy, but it's not played on Italian radios. Romano fell in love with the band, and the movie, a few years ago, and made a CD." He retreated his hand and folded one in his lap, resting his head in his other as he propped his elbow on his knee. "He's a bit of a romantic."

"So I've noticed..." Antonio commented, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "His house is full of romance novels."

Feliciano nodded in confirmation. "That's why that was a CD you listened to. He put a lot of songs on there that are fun to dance to. Carla Boni and Pink Martini are only two of the many featured on it. He set everything up perfectly, and if you were Italian, you would have picked up on that."

From the very beginning, Antonio had thought he was the one in control. He had thought that he was the only pulling Lovino closer and closer. But oh, how wrong he had been... The fire had been burning by itself, and it was the warmth that drew Antonio closer to it. The fire had beckoned him, drew him in, and he had fallen for it, thinking that he had found himself at the hearth, all on his own.

Feliciano motioned for him to continue, and so, he did. Antonio, with a smile gracing his lips, told him of their parting, of how he confided in Francis and Gilbert of how he had fallen. Oh, but at the mention of the fight, his smile faded, and he found himself wringing his hands together. He mentioned of how Gilbert had tried to break them up, only to get caught in it, and of how he had stormed off into the night.

He told Feliciano of the morning after, waking up on the bench with two police officers speaking to him. He spoke fondly of how Lovino ushered him away, saved him from that, and lead him back home, like a lost puppy. He spoke of the fresh clothes, of the meal that was prepared for him. Well. Not exactly for him, but the both of them. He spoke of the wine, and he caught Feliciano glancing away in guilt at the mention.

He took it as his opportunity to reassure Feliciano, letting him know that it was alright, that Lovino wasn't upset with him. That it didn't go to waste. Feliciano seemed to ease at this, but the remorse lingered in his eyes. Knowing there was not much more he could do, he continued, leaving out the bits of Lovino's insecurities and instead continuing on to the growing affectionate displays, the pillow fight, the necklace, and the kiss.

Then finally, his story came to the morning after their drunken night. He found himself hesitating here, Feliciano listening carefully to any words that would leave his lips. This, he decided, would be the most important. He swallowed, his hands balling into fists at his knees. He shyly glanced to Feliciano, unsure of himself at first. Would it even be alright...? How could he even explain it...?

As best he could, he decided.

Breathing in sharply, Antonio slowly let it out to quell his nerves. "When I woke up, Lovino was facing away from me," he spoke quietly. He refused to look Feliciano in the eye. His heart was once again heavy, his smile nowhere to be found. It hurt to speak of... It felt like ages ago, but oh, it felt like only a few short moments had passed.

He could hardly believe it was only this morning... He swallowed thickly, and continued, "I tried to reach for him. But he flinched and moved away. I sat up, and asked him what was wrong. He was shaking, and he just said... He said, 'don't touch me...' I didn't." He could hear his voice grow quieter and quieter, feel his entire body begin to numb. A thousand possibilities swam through his mind, yet nothing seemed to fit. "I tried to ask him what was wrong, and he just wouldn't answer. He kept his back to me, and I asked again, and... And he told me to just leave. He didn't say anything else, he just said I needed to go... I needed to leave..."

He sunk his head into his hands, pushing his fingers through his hair as he hid his eyes in his palms. "I left." God, it hurt so much to speak even that much. To admit that he had just left, just like that. That he didn't even say goodbye, that he didn't even give another kiss. Just picked up his clothes and left.

"I ran. I... I was so scared... I was so terrified I hurt him somehow, I just... ran... I didn't stop until I got back to the hotel, and Gilbert and Francis found me." He felt numb. Yet he trembled, his voice quivering. Even now, he could feel the guilt of what he had done. No matter how he looked at it, he could only think of how he had hurt Lovino. Whether it was then or now, he had ultimately left a scar, and he could not deny that now.

He realised - before Feliciano did, he was sure - just what he had done. Exactly where he had gone wrong. His lips quivered, and he could have sworn that tears would fall if he still had more that he could cry. His breath fell short, and his body slumped into his hands, fingers curling. He could feel the hand gently rubbing his back in soothing circles, but he paid it no mind. He could feel the guilt weighing down on him, so much heavier than before, now that he knew.

              _". . . I've always been afraid of . . . people leaving and never comin' back . . ."_

He was stupid, so stupid... The signs were right there, everything was right there. He had ultimately hurt Lovino, and there was no way he could fix it. He had committed the taboo, and that was making Lovino fall for him. He should've listened to Francis, to Gilbert... He should have left it where it was, when his gut told him it was a bad idea. There were warning signs all around. And he had not seen them. Not until now, and oh, it was too late...

              _". . . Why d'you think I'm always runnin' away all the damn time?"_

No, it wasn't just Lovino... It was Antonio, too. Antonio, too, ran away from everything he did not know. He ran away from what he knew would hurt him, he ran away from the truth. He lived in a fantasy world where no one would be harmed, only to be ripped from that world and shoved back into reality. The demons toyed with him, allowing him to feel pure bliss before forcefully ripping it away to show the consequences of carelessness.

             ". . . t o . . ."

Just like before, he acted carelessly, followed every whim and urge. He acted without restraint, and though it was in a different matter, it all had the same result. He had hurt her, he had scarred her, just as he had promised he wouldn't do to Lovino. There may have not been insults and ridicules this time around, there may not have been screams and accusations, but oh, there were still apologies to be made, still scars to be left. But no matter how many times he apologised, he knew there would be no forgiveness. From those he harmed, maybe, but he could never forgive himself, just as he could not forgive himself for Anri. For Francis. For Gilbert. For Lovino...

             ". . . A n t o . . . "

Wherever he went, he left destruction in his wake. He was made to ruin, whether he meant to do so or not. He did not see the consequences of his actions, and now, others had to suffer for it. And oh, it always had to be the ones he cared about most...

He had kept Gilbert away from visiting his family for the holidays, asking instead for the German to spend it with Francis and himself, as a selfish request. A week later, the car containing Ludwig and their grandfather both had spun out on black ice on the freeway and caused a mass collision. Both lives were lost. One in death, the other in memory.

Antonio had kept his friend from rushing into the fire to save his love, arguing - with truth - that he had seen her escape. Moments before the gas tanks' explosions, she had been witnessed by the both of them, rushing back into the flames to save a child. The child would have survived the explosion, for her body had been his shield, had it not been for the building's collapse soon after.

A friendship would not have been torn apart and trust would not have been entirely lost, had it not been for Antonio screaming at the one person he had fallen in love with growing up, for a crime of infidelity he himself had committed. His best friend, lost due to angered words that held no true meaning. Though both on good terms now, the relationship between her brother and the Spaniard had grown to be less-than-pleasing, if not too entirely tense for reconciliation.

             ". . . o n i . . . "

Two events had not been him, directly, who had been the cause of the harm. But, oh, he still had his hand in them, in some way... The last one, especially, was something that could never be argued any other way... He knew of his tale, of his wrong-doings, and oh, he vowed it would never happen again. He wasn't the same man he was before, and he knew he would never commit such an act again. Yet he still managed to harm another, in unfathomable ways... He was the cause of his loved ones to lose what was most dear to them. He was the cause for their worst fears to come to life.

Gilbert, it was his fear of losing his family that ruled him.

Francis, it was the fear of losing eternal bliss in the form of his most cherished.

Anri, it was her fear of betrayal that haunted her.

And lastly Lovino... God, Lovino... His fear of abandonment, Antonio had committed a crime against.

              _ **"ANTONIO!!"**_

The shout snapped him from his thoughts. Breath hitching, Antonio's head snapped up to find a form before him. For a brief moment, he could only stare with widened eyes as he gazed into forest green hues. Dark auburn locks framed a sturdy jawline and a sharp brow furrowed into worry and confusion. But when he blinked, that image was gone, replaced with a rounder face, softer features, and lightened hair. For a moment, he could not breathe, and he found himself blinking a few more times in an attempt to bring the image back. It was lost to him.

Fingers dug into his shoulders as eyes flicked between each of his own. A sigh escaped parted lips and the hold loosened, lowering to his upper arms. "Ton...? You okay...?" a quiet voice whispered.

Slowly, Antonio remembered how to breathe. His surroundings gradually faded back in around him, and he nodded. Yes. Yes, he was okay... At least, he was breathing. He felt the squeeze on his shoulders, and focused on the form before him.

"Good. Good... Just... Just breathe, okay? Deep breaths. Ready? In... Out..." Feli spoke carefully. A pause. "Come on, Toni... In, out... In, out..." His hands gently coaxed for the breathing, setting up a steady rhythm for Antonio to follow. "Breathe with me, okay? It's alright. You're allowed to, it's okay. Just breathe with me, follow my breathing, okay?" He breathed in again, and then out, and then in, and then out. His features relaxed as Antonio began to do the same, though the breaths were stuttered. He cracked a smile, squeezing the arms gently. "Good... In... Out... In... Out... Keep breathing, don't stop... Clear your mind of everything, just focus on me..."

Feliciano silenced his words for a brief moment so he could echo the breathing, focusing on steadying Antonio's. "Hold onto me if you need to, okay? I'm right here, you'll be okay. Can you do something for me, Antonio? Can you make a barrier? Make a barrier with your mind, okay? Hold that barrier up, don't let anything get it." He moved closer, eyeing for discomfort, before settling right where he was, knees against the floor. "Good, good, just keep the barrier up, okay? Don't let it down. Nothing can get in. Those bad thoughts, those fears? They can't get you, they can't touch you. Nothing can touch you.

"Only I can touch you, see? Only I can, nothing else, no one else. And if you don't want anyone touching you, say 'hand' okay? Just 'hand,' that's the magic word, that's the word that makes it so no one can touch you. Do you want me to let go?" A shake of the head, and a hand timidly grasped at the Italian's shirt. "Okay, then I won't. I'm here. I'm not letting go, I'm not going anywhere."

As Feliciano spoke to him, Antonio listened intently and listened to every instruction. Many were repeats, sure, but it kept his mind focused, kept his thoughts from wandering. If he felt the fear settling back in, he would throw that barrier up, and Feliciano would only grasp him tighter, only to loosen it when Antonio showed it was okay. And slowly but surely, Antonio grasped at his surroundings, his heart calming and his breathing slowing to where it needed to be. All with Feliciano's help, whose voice quieted as time went on.

A few more moments passed, and Feliciano gave a small smile. "You okay...?"

Antonio nodded. Finally, he could feel the strength to muster words. "I'm okay. I'm... I... Lo siento..." he murmured quietly.

Feliciano shook his head, taking the Spaniard into his arms and giving a cautious hug. "You're okay. If you need someone, you need someone. I'm not going to judge you for that," he reassured before he pulled away. He looked into Antonio's eyes, sliding his hands down to the other's wrists. Concern, with a mixture of relief, reflected in his gaze. "Do you need anything...?"

The Spaniard's lips pursed. His mind felt numb, groggy. He felt so very tired, so worn out... As though he could fall asleep, right there. But as his reply, he simply shook his head. "Sleep..." he answered a beat later, barely above a whisper.

The younger nodded and carefully drew himself up, gently pushing on Antonio's shoulder. The Spaniard complied, laying himself down on the mattress. "You can sleep, okay? Want me to get someone? Or do you want me to stay here?" In other words, there was apparently no way the Italian would leave him alone. Probably a smart idea, in all reality.

After a brief moment, Antonio gave the name of his brother. A nod, and Feliciano carefully withdrew his hands, after asking permission to do so. As Antonio let his eyes close, he could hear the footsteps echo to the door. It swung open, yet the footsteps did not leave. There was a hushed shout of the name he had spoken, and another one, before there was an answer from farther away.

Silence.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing louder until they stopped at the opened door. The clicking of claws followed, yet had not entered the room like the footsteps did after the hushed whispers. A pair left, and the door quietly closed and a soft question reached his ears. He grunted his response, and the light vanished from beyond his eyelids.

That did not mean the noises stopped. The footsteps neared, and the bed shifted under the new weight. Not even a minute later and another form was lying beside him, gently coaxing him into a warm embrace. He allowed for it to happen, drawing himself closer to the warmth and hesitantly slinging an arm across it. He felt like such a child, pressed against the chest of his older sibling... But God, he could not care right now. It was warm, and it was comfortable. He would not complain, not in the least, especially when a hand played with his curls.

"Feliciano will call Romano-Lovino tonight," Miguel murmured quietly. "He wanted you to know that." A hum in response, and something vaguely similar to 'gracias.' "He'll let you know in the morning what comes out of it." Sure enough, muffled Italian echoed through the walls, though the words were lost to the both of them. No doubt, that was the foretold phone call, though Antonio cared not at the moment. "Just sleep for tonight, okay...? I will not leave you. I promise."

Ever so slightly, Antonio nodded his approval and understanding. The arm tightened around him, the hand stilled, and a kiss pressed against the top of his head. Everything felt so peaceful, so calm, after the initial panic had subsided. He could hardly remember it now, hardly recall the memories and emotions that had blown through him. All he knew was that now, he was slipping into darkness, with a warmth by his side. Sleep would soon take him, and he would not fight it. Not this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So maybe it's safe to say now? There will be another chapter! ouo/) I swear to you that this will be the last chapter of Una Notte A Napoli. I had planned a special 8th chapter as a thank you to all my readers, and had kept it hidden from everyone until now. But with the release of this chapter, I can finally come out and say that there will be a 8th chapter, and it shall be the last! It will wrap everything up, and the story shall be complete.
> 
> Thank you so very much for sticking with me through all of this and believing in me! Your reviews have been wonderful and inspiring, and have most certainly helped with keeping my motivation for this chapter at its highest point! ;u; I can never thank you enough! I love you all and see you next chapter~!
> 
> I swear it's the last. I promise. No hidden chapters this time.


	8. Day Eight: Took Me to Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I ACTUALLY FINISHED THIS? Well. Here's the final chapter, everyone. Thank you so much for sticking with me through everything. Each review, each favourite, each view, even, seriously brought me back up and motivated me to finish this fic ;u;/) And now, I can finally say that this is done, that this can now come to a close. So without further ado... Enjoy the last chapter of Una Notte A Napoli.
> 
> OH BUT BEFORE YOU DO— There is a new character in here, one I have never portrayed before. I apologise if he is out of character due to this /)////////(\ I've only just started falling in love with him and wanted to add him so. Yeah...

Again and again, his eyes traced over the letter. Every paragraph, every sentence, every word. Yet it refused to change its wording, it refused to dismantle its negative composition. Try as he might, its content refused to dissolve itself, refused to even rearrange itself. It would not adhere to his will, and as he sat there, looking to it, he had a feeling it never would. The words upon the page, so pristine and so formal, brought upon him dread and despair. Stress, more like it. He thought that perhaps, the words were forged. Some sort of trick. But there they were, blaringly red before him. Perhaps not the colour itself, but oh, it was a flashing red sign all the same...

Trembling, the man raked a hand through his hair, his fingers tightening on the creased paper they held. He couldn't see the words on the page, now. He felt as though he read them so many times, he had grown numb to them. He tried to tell himself that his eyes weren't misting over, that they were not filling with tears. Yet he knew the answer to such accusations. Just as they had this morning, they threatened to spill over again. Whether in fear or worry, he did not know. Nor did he particularly care. All he cared for was that they were, indeed, there, and there was no way he could will them away. Not if he continued to stare at the very thing that would bring them on. Yet he was frozen. His body denied his mind's requests, his mind's pleas, to move.

He could not see the room around him, could not feel the summer breeze blowing in through the open window. The low drones of the cicadas fell deaf upon his ear, and he could feel the tight squeeze deep within his chest. It was suffocating him. Blast this heat, and damn this letter... They were both troubling things, things that would set him back so much farther than he wished for them to. Yet he had no say in the matter. He was helpless, pulled along by life's cruel puppeteering. And how his strings fiercely tugged at him with each sharp movement... Surely soon, they would give out...

No. He had to move, he had to act. He couldn't let it eat away at him...! Tossing the paper to the coffee table was the first step. Standing was the second. He could even hardly remember doing that, yet his limbs remembered for him. Quietly, he congratulated himself on such a large task. For something so simple, so small, it surely was something he didn't even expect he could do. Hell. He couldn't even touch the bottle, the glasses, that still lay on the table... Couldn't even bear to look at them... So standing? It seemed like such effort, now, with the news now lying next to such pained memories. Funny how they would collect, only for him to find later on...

Turning on his heel, Lovino forced himself away from the sacred space. The cold halls resounded with the tapping of bare feet as he made his way to the entryway. Up the stairs, to the left, and through the doorway. He ignored the unmade bed and made a beeline instead to the dresser just inside the door, not caring to look in the mirror. He knew how he looked; he had seen it earlier, when he had relieved himself. That lifeless being staring back at him...

Sunken eyes, dishevelled hair, cracked lips, pale complexion... It was all too glaringly obvious.

How he had even put up with _him_ , through that entire time, Lovino did not know.

Damnit! He couldn't rid him of his thoughts for even one damn moment?! Jesus Christ! Gritting his teeth, the Italian shoved the dresser drawer closed, his fingers wrapped tightly around a soft cushion of rolled-up socks. He turned his back to the room and found himself storming out, leaving the door open behind him. He didn't even want to touch that doorknob; it would only sear him with the heat of the hand that had graced it, only a few nights prior. Such was the fate of anything that crossed paths with something so impossibly bright... Lovino, himself, could still feel the scars etched into his skin, the warmth that radiated from those scorches...

Stopping at the bottom of the steps, Lovino placed himself down upon the last step. He tugged on the socks and wriggled his toes to assure they hadn't come on crooked. With that, he stood from his makeshift seat and strode to the front door — only to stop dead in his tracks at the song that resonated through his all-too-silent home. His stomach twisted at the sound, his eyes flicking in its direction. The steady vibrating added to the noise, refusing to stop. He would not pick up, he decided. He couldn't. He was done trying to explain himself, and so very tired of small talk.

He let it ring through. He didn't even wait for it; just grabbed his keys and wallet, and left the house. The door closed behind him, and he stopped only to lock it before pocketing his keys. His hands found their way into the pockets of his jeans as he stepped forward, leaving his empty house behind. There was no need to be there. He couldn't bear the silence any longer, and there was no way he was touching that radio. It was difficult enough having to turn it off the morning before this one.

He shoved the thoughts aside. Why should he dabble in such memories? The past was the past. There was no sense in striving for it, you could not get back what had been lost. And out of anyone, Lovino knew that best. God, did he ever know that best... Most days, he silently begged for his memories to grow kind to him. And even more than that, he had to remind himself that it would all be worth it, in the end. He had to be rewarded for his hard work, someday... Right?

Food. He was in need of food. Perhaps, then, he should try to find something small, he mused. Something he could bring home and store in the house, so he wouldn't have to buy it later. He was sure he had some cash on him... If not, then he could always withdraw what was left in the bank. Maybe some fruits would do, or some meats. No, no meats; he had plenty of that, and frankly, it was difficult for him to do anything extravagant. Hell. He doubted he could still cook tonight... More than likely, he'd eat out again.

But now... He probably needed to save every penny... Groaning to himself, Lovino's eyes flicked to the sky, squinting at the sun shining down. Why did it have to be so difficult...? Why couldn't he just be happy, for one in his goddamn life? Why is that whenever something seemed to be going good for him, something would always happen? ... Perhaps he shouldn't think on that.

Shaking his head, Lovino looked ahead again, forcing his thoughts to other matters. Such as, for example, the memory of the lost interview. He had tried the place again, yet the position had been taken by another. He had accepted it as such. It simply meant the job was not for him. Yet, that still left him without a source of income, and that, well... wasn't the best of options... Not at the current point in time, that is. Perhaps, then, he could go job hunting yet again, and be more vigorous about it. But, oh, that was so much work...

Working, itself, he didn't mind. He could do tasks needed of him. He would happily do anything that required all of his attention, with no time left to himself. He could throw himself into his work, easily, and not have a single complaint about it. That was better than just sitting at home, drowning in thoughts and memories, far too lost in the depths of his own mind. But it was the thought of having to search in the first place, the reason as to why he had to search... That was what got to him, what worried him. He could do the work a job required; he couldn't be bothered to do the work in order to _find_ that job.

And there he went again. Allowing his thoughts to wander far too much. Maybe he should have brought that darn cell phone... Regardless of how many times it rang... At least his brother's yammering mouth would become a welcomed distraction, at this point.

Releasing a heavy sigh through his nose, Lovino stared straight ahead at the crowd in the distance. He could hear the sounds growing closer, hear the bustling of the marketplace not too far off. He wasn't there just yet; he still had a while until then. But the open shops, the many busy bodies making their weekend shopping... It was enough to alert him of the presence of others, of how deep he was getting into the city. Granted, he wasn't far from the ocean; he could still smell the sea upon the breeze. He would never stray far enough for it to fade away entirely, he realised, not with simply walking.

Unless, of course, he walked for far too long. Hopefully, he wouldn't be stupid enough to do so.

And finally, he reached the beginnings of the crowd. All around him, men and women alike excitedly spoke of their lives, of their plans and this and that, and this and that. The conversations slurred together into one cacophony of noise, one overbearing voice. It bore deep within his mind, reverberated through his soul, yet he could not hear it, all at the same time. He could hear the words, yet he could not listen to them, could not care to. He care not for the groups of friends who laughed and gushed and gossiped. And he especially cared not for the lovers that made their way down the streets, their fingers intertwined and their glances so soft and gentle... God, it made his stomach twist at the mere sight of them, yet all he could do was turn a blind eye at every smile, every fleeting kiss.

But through the crowd, he could feel eyes upon him, could feel the gazes of those who wished not for him to be there. Like it was his fault, in the first place... He could only grimace at the thought, of the memory. Surely, after last week's fiasco, security of the marketplace had been tightened. Lovino, himself, could easily slip through; he was not a wanted man. Perhaps there were those who were suspicious of what actions he would bring upon this city, but he, himself, would not partake in them. They were all behind him. He would not be returning to that time, so long as he still breathed with his own lungs.

His thoughts left him in a scattering wave as his eyes fell upon a familiar head of hair. Now that wasn't one you saw often, in these parts... Not _that_ light, anyhow. Lips curling into a lopsided smile, he could feel his shoulders relaxing at the sight. Oh, this was so much more than a simple distraction, and would most certainly be more conversation than a one-sided chat with his sibling. It wouldn't be too bad of company. If worse came to worst, it would be a welcomed ear to rant to, as well. And God knew he needed that sometimes...

Picking up the pace just a tad more, Lovino retrieved a hand out of his pockets and clapped the other's shoulder with it. "Ciao, Em," he greeted as he did so, amused with the startled jump presented by his light-haired friend.

A bag of apples in his arms, the blond flicked his eyes up toward the Italian. Breathing out a sigh, he regarded Lovino with a slight nod of the head, as his own greeting. "Buon giorno," he greeted.

"Brushin' up on Italian, then?" Lovino questioned with a quirked brow, the hand lowering to his side.

Emil gave a shrug, his lips twitching ever so slightly. "Not quite. Just thought I'd go for a different introduction this time."

"Well, that one certainly was differently." Lovino motioned to the apples. "How'd you manage to get those? Last I checked, these guys overpriced English-speakers for food. Thought you knew that by now."

"Nobody ever said I bought them."

Lovino scrutinised them, a frown playing along his lips.

Emil chuckled and freed up a hand in order to wave it in dismissal. "Don't worry," he reassured, returning their hand where it had been, "I didn't steal them. I didn't come here alone." With a nod of the head, he gestured in another direction.

Through the crowd, the Italian could spy a mess of blond locks, no doubt styled earlier this morning with far too much hair gel. ... Okay, maybe not. He knew full well how soft those locks could be; the guy didn't use that much to begin with. He let out a hum, regardless, and focused his attention back to Emil. "Mind ditchin' Blondie for a bit?"

Emil shook his head.

"Good, 'cause I need to borrow you."

While he did raise an eyebrow of suspicion at his friend, Emil didn't question him outright and instead obliged the wish of the man. With the nod of his head, he excused himself and slipped away to speak with the taller man.

Lovino simply watched from where he stood, but as soon as eyes were upon him, he gave a wave of greeting. He would have to apologise to Mathis and the others later... Wherever they were... It seemed on this rare occasion, the group had split up. Funny... As he recalled, that was the same way he had run into that damned Spaniard... His lips formed a thin line at this realisation, his hand lowering as he watched the two bid their temporary farewells to each other. What was it with foreigners and splitting up to go to the marketplace? Didn't they know it was better to shop in pairs, if not a whole group?

Oh well.

Giving a greeting to Emil when he returned, Lovino motioned for him to follow and started on the hunt for food. As much as he'd love to bring back food from the marketplace, he didn't think it would be the brightest idea to hang around Mathias at the current point in time... As great fun as the guy was, Lovino didn't know if he could stand him, for the moment. Perhaps, he mused, the man would remind him far too much of another.

"So what brings you to Italia, ah? Didn't hear you'd be comin'," Lovino spoke as his eyes flicked to the one walking beside him.

Emil glanced up from the device in his hands at the question, giving an apologetic glance. "I didn't tell you because I didn't know," he answered, "Mathias decided it on a whim, and everyone went along with it."

"So the others are...?"

"They're here." A beat. "Lukas is getting water for the hotel. Berwald and Tino are shopping with Peter. I don't know where."

"Ah. So the whole gang's here, then?"

Emil shrugged, focusing his attention back to the phone. After scrolling through a few screens, however, he pocketed it again. "More or less."

"More or less?" Lovino echoed.

A beat of hesitant silence as Emil glanced up, lips forming a thin line. Pale cheeks dusted in the slightest of pink, and if Lovino didn't know the Icelandic kid, he would have assumed it was from the heat. After all, he was in a place a hell of a lot warmer than what he was used to.

But Lovino knew better than that. Narrowing his eyes slightly, the Italian repeated, "More or less?"

The blond let out a huff as he glanced ahead. "I tried to convince Mathis for another plane ticket, but we ended up too short on money," he confessed. "I was trying to bring... Someone from Hong Kong."

Lovino gave a soft hum. "Someone from Hong Kong, huh?" He could feel the tugging of his heartstrings, and he forced himself to glance away as well. Stay strong, Lovino... Do it for the kid... "Must be pretty special, for you to want to pay for them."

For a moment, there was silence. Then a quiet, "Yeah." At this, Lovino glanced over, to see the gentlest of smiles gracing the other's face.

So there it was. The confirmation. Written as plain as day... He could feel the lump in his throat, but he forced it down. His eyes tore away to return ahead once more. Vaguely, he wondered if that was what his own smiles had looked like... They surely were what that man's were... Letting out a chuckle, Lovino reached over to ruffle his friend's hair. "You're a doof, kid."

A snort. "A 'doof,' maybe. But I'm not a kid anymore."

With a raised brow, Lovino found his eyes once again drawn to Emil.

"I turned 18 last month."

What. When? No. That much time hadn't passed, Lovino was sure of it. His steps faltered, his expression leaving him for a moment. Hadn't summer just begun? It couldn't be July already. He knew it would have been far too hot for June, but God, he could've sworn... Emil's expression told him everything he needed to know; he had lost himself in time, yet again. He had lost sense of the days, of the time passing. He was simply going through the motions, at this point.

The only sound that echoed from either of them was the steady rhythm of their footsteps. Nothing more, nothing less. The murmurs of the crowds began to fade in the background, yet they, too, found themselves in that growing silence. Their silence came from two very different explanations; one wanted to speak, but couldn't. The other didn't want to, but had to, eventually.

Thus, it was Emil who broke the silence, with a simple name. His voice was quiet, and in all truth, Lovino was happy it broke the silence around them. But, oh, he wished those words didn't leave his lips... "I know it's not my place to ask, but if I may... Have you been taking your pills...?"

He didn't want to answer that. God, he didn't want to answer that... But if anyone should know, it was Emil. He could remember the many nights they both had spent, talking in broken English over the phone, both crying and comforting each other. Lovino, himself, had become sort of a mentor for the boy, talking his friend down from the worst of panic attacks. At this point, the elder could consider the younger as a sort of younger brother, with both caring for each other and giving reminders when they needed them.

Slowly, Lovino shook his head. "They cut it off. About... two months ago, I guess. I had enough for another week, but. Well. I'm still fightin' to get it back," he replied.

"I thought your health system covered it. Given the... thing... a few months back..."

Lovino knew exactly what the other spoke of. Breathing out a sigh, the man once again shook his head. "No. They turned around, sayin' I didn't need it anymore. I showed no signs of doin' anything stupid, so. They cut it off." Both hands digging into his pockets and grasping at their contents, he gave an exaggerated shrug. He refused to look to Emil, at this point, and instead focused on his own two feet as he walked. Ashamed, perhaps... "I suppose when you start showing signs of recovering, they cut off the one thing makin' it so."

Emil gave a frown as they looked ahead, contemplation reflecting on their features. And carefully, "Haven't you tried appealing to them? Letting them know you need it?"

Lovino snorted, rolling his eyes. He knew what Emil had in mind, and it was no doubt a polite approach, such as formal letter. But he had tried that, only to receive denial letter after denial letter... Until finally, he had a phone call from the doctor, himself. "The only way they'll believe me, at this point, is if I put myself back in that hospital. And there's no chance in hell I'm doin' that again," he answered. He shook his head. "Nevermind that... Tell me more about this Hong Kong person."

He couldn't tell if it was a welcomed change or not, given the short silence that followed after. But after that brief moment, Emil spoke up, "Remember that friend I mentioned a while ago? The one over at Arthur's when I went to visit him with Tino and them?"

Lovino nodded.

"That's them. They were visiting at the time, too, and we exchanged contact information. Mathias wasn't happy about that, but. Well. You know him."

The Italian couldn't help but to chuckle at this. "He's too protective for his own good sometimes."

"You're guilty of the same thing, you know," Emil shot back, eyes darting to the man. "You should see yourself with Feliciano."

He could only give a quick glance before looking away again, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. Geeze, did everyone have to harp on him about that? Or at least mention it? He straightened his posture and replied, "Well, do you blame me? Have you seen the kid? He's not exactly the brightest around."

A chuckle came from Emil and he flashed a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I know you mean well," he answered. Blue eyes focused ahead, surveying the area around them as he let the thoughts play in his mind for a brief moment. "I'll tell you the rest of the story when you tell me where we're going."

Right. He had sort of forgotten they were walking aimlessly. In truth, Lovino hadn't even properly thought of where he wanted to go; just let his feet lead the way. Sure, it didn't get them lost — he knew exactly where he was — but he wasn't too fond of where they were leading him, either. His stomach twisted at the familiarity around them, his smile failing him. He knew this road, he knew this path. He knew this exact place, that same bench... The memories flooded back to him, and he could feel the remorse of it instantly.

It was a different day. A different time. He was with someone entirely different. Yet everything was exactly the same. The rushing beat of a heart, the nervous laughter of a stranger, the apologies of that same man... The banter, the accusations, the challenges, the sun-kissed sun, the emerald hues, the chocolate curls, the plush lips...

With smile gone, Lovino quietly answered, "We're going to Il Poco Sole. It's... a really good place." He could feel the eyes on him, feel the confusion emanating off the boy — no, man — beside him. Yet he chose to ignore it, gathering himself up and motioning for Emil to follow. "No, seriously, they have the best seafood in town. And pastas, but not that touristy crap you foreigners eat."

Emil snorted, holding his head a tad taller as he followed after. "Oh, trust me. After meeting you, I know to stay away from 'fake Italian'," he retorted.

Lovino cast a proud smirk over his shoulder. "Good."

Upon entering the small restaurant, the Italian spoke away with the host, greeting him kindly before asking him how his day was. The man responded in turn, making quick of the conversation, yet the smile he wore told of the gratitude of the simple question. He went on to offer seating indoors, given the warm day, but Lovino politely declined, asking instead for one on the patio. The man obliged, and lead the two to their table, where he spoke of bringing the menus to them shortly, before leaving them to be.

The man that sat across from him wasn't a dopey-eyed Spaniard, he realised. It wasn't a lost sheep, too dumb to even bleat. It was an old friend of his, one he had seen in person only a few given times. One who at least had a better understanding of the Italian language... Seriously, with the similarities between the two romantic languages, you'd expect _something_ to come out of it. Instead, that damn bastard decided to go for the doe-eyed like, not even bothering to try to understand what was being spoken to him.

Why in the hell was he even thinking on this... Lovino groaned once more, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He could feel them tearing up again, and with Emil's concerned expression, it hadn't gone unnoticed. "I'm... I'm fine, I just... Give me a moment, will ya..." Elbows resting on the table, Lovino kept his eyes hidden as he regained himself. He breathed in deeply, and slowly let it out. He'd have to come clean eventually, so maybe he'd just mention it now... "I'll tell ya more later, but some shit went down in the past few days. ... Past week." He lowered his hands, letting his arms fold across the table as he glared down upon its surface. A frown tugged at the corners of his lips, his brows furrowed together. "Long story cut short, I met someone, and got hurt because of it. It's all stupid and confusing, but basically, we went here."

"And you're taking me here, why...?" Emil questioned, a frown on his own lips. This one, however, was out of suspicious confusion.

Lovino's eyes flicked to the man, before slowly, he shook his head. "I don't... know... My body wanted to come here. I guess..."

Slowly, Emil nodded his understanding, his gaze softening ever so slightly. Leaning forward, he offered, "If it hurts too much, Lovino, let me know, and we'll go somewhere else."

The Italian smiled his thanks, but was unable to respond, for another voice cut in. Menus were placed before them, and Lovino thanked the man for his service. The man grinned a cheery grin and escaped back to the cool air conditioned building, no doubt wanting to escape the summer heat, unlike the two patrons outside. Then again, the poor guy hadn't dressed for the occasion... Such was the fate of those expected to wait on others, Lovino supposed.

Regardless, he turned his attention away from their waiter and on the boy before him. Emil seemed to be interested in the menu, lifting the laminated paper up and studying its contents. His brows furrowed in deep concentration as his eyes darted across the words. Right... The boy had learned how to read Italian. At least the basics of it. Speak it, or even understand it? Oh, far from it. Perhaps he would have had an interest in learning without Lovino's influence, but the Italian had a strong feeling that it was no doubt because of him. The two had been talking long enough, and if Lovino wanted to be honest, he, too, had an interest in the other's language. Though, that didn't mean he could learn it... He tried. That didn't go so well.

Gesturing for Emil's attention by slightly waving his fingers, his hand still upon the table, Lovino watched as his friend glanced up at him. With a reassuring smile, the Italian stated, "I'll be okay. I go to this place on my own often. I can stand eating here with a friend."

This earned a smile of gratitude in return, followed by a quiet, "Okay."

Lovino gestured to the menu. "Pick anythin' you want, ah? Meal's on me," he offered. Screw money. He'd find out something to do. He needed to treat himself, and there was no way he'd make a friend pay for himself. Not when said friend didn't even know they were going to eat until they were already walking. No, Lovino was not rude. Far from it! Really, all that it was, was that he had a resting bitch face.

Offering a word of gratitude in reply, Emil glanced through the menu before choosing his own meal, Lovino doing the same. He couldn't pronounce the words for the life of him, but Lovino was quick to take over when the waiter came, ordering for him as to avoid confusion. The menus were collected and the waiter excused himself once again, mentioning that he would be back with their drinks momentarily. Lovino thanked the man as he left, before focusing on the other before him. "Alright. So. Tell me more about that lover of yours."

"Well first off," Emil quickly responded, back straightening and cheeks tinting pink. His hands curled on the table, and he sucked in a breath. "They're not my lover. They're just... a friend. A best friend."

Lovino hummed, resting his cheek in his hand. With his free one, he gestured for Emil to continue. "Go on?"

Breathing out, Emil deflated, his eyes flicking away. "As I mentioned, I met them at Arthur's. They were a bit quiet at first, but we got along well enough, so they gave me their contact info. Before I knew it, we were doing Skype calls until the sun rose."

"I remember you tellin' me you were on a Skype call. This was... a few years ago, right?"

Emil nodded in confirmation. "Yeah... It was around... well, around that time."

Lovino's lips formed a thin line as those years ago were vaguely mentioned. His escape to Sicily, and his not-so-dignified work.

Noticing his friend's discomfort, the Nordic's gaze softened and he reached forward, gently patting Lovino's free hand. "It's okay. I'm not hurt, and I'm not bothered. I understand. I'm not upset by it," he reassured. Only when Lovino relaxed his posture did he give a gentle squeeze and pull his hand away, folding his arms on the table. "Continuing on... I've met them a few times. In person, I mean. My family's not too rich, but... We managed to pull them out a few times." A soft smile returned, his eyes flicking down to the table. "We've really gotten close."

A lovestruck idiot... That's all Lovino could see, all he could think. A man who had fallen for someone else, and had no sense of returning. His heart had been stolen — though by the way he talked, it was most definitely in good hands. He was thankful for that, at least. Regarding the teen before him, Lovino decided to ask a question that would keep away from the topic of romance. At least partially. As much as he would love for Emil to continue, he felt that he could not take it all at once. "So you've got me curious." Emil's eyes flicked up in curiosity. "Why all the they and them? You tryin' to keep who it is from me, or are those their pronouns?"

Emil stared toward Lovino for a moment, in silence. Careful realisation dawned in his eyes, before a small snort came from him. He covered his mouth at this, eyes flicking away. "Remember when I came out to you?" Lovino nodded, and Emil lowered his hand once more. "They were the one who told me about different gender identities."

Lovino gave a hum of understanding, nodding his head once more. He gestured his free hand to Emil. "So then... May I ask what gender? Just so I'm not, y'know, gettin' it wrong."

"Agender. You've heard of it?"

"Yeah, I've heard of it." Lowering his arm, Lovino sat back in his chair, drumming his fingers against the table. "You're not the only one I hear things from, y'know." A questioning gaze and Lovino's eyes flicked to the main building. Still no drinks... And out here in the covered patio, he was beginning to grow thirsty. Nonetheless, he turned his gaze back to his friend. "Feliciano. He's genderfluid, apparently. Prefers he/him, most days." Emil nodded in understanding. "Long story short, I told him about what you found out. Regarding identities. He came out to me on that same phone call."

"Glad to hear you still call him often enough." His words were genuine, his soft smile sincere. Perhaps it was pride that reflected in his eyes. Perhaps it was relief. Lovino couldn't tell; he couldn't read those eyes as he could another's.

Yet at those words, Lovino found his body stilling, his breath catching. True, he did, but... His lips turning into a frown, his eyes flicked away. His memory returned to the abandoned phone on the countertop. No doubt, it was ringing like crazy... The last time he didn't answer his phone, he realised, was months ago. He had forgotten just why he had taken to answering every phone call, so long as it was Feliciano's name that illuminated the screen. Damnit, he really was an idiot... He huffed and found himself unable to look toward Emil.

"What did you do...?"

How could simple words pierce him right through? He nearly visibly flinched at them, and could feel the wound oozing. He swallowed thickly, his hand balling into a fist as his gaze instead focused on the restaurant not too far off. Slowly, he shook his head, yet he had no time to answer just yet. His eyes caught sight of their waiter coming forth with drinks, depositing them before excusing himself back indoors. Alas, Emil did not let up.

The chair creaked as Emil's weight shifted forward. The table slightly tilted with the new weight found on it. Emil started with his friend's name, then, "What did you do?" While his voice was gentle, it was cautious. He treaded upon this kind of territory like one would with rocky terrain in high heeled shoes. And after a brief silence, he posed another question, "What happened?"

Lovino breathed out a sigh, gaze flicking to the man. Annoyance flickered within his eyes, yet the flame died quickly. He didn't have the strength for it. The shadows haunted him. They whispered words of taunts and teasings. They laughed at him, ridiculed him, belittled him. And without the light, he could not bid them to the darkest corners to hide, the corners in which Lovino refused to visit. "I don't know what happened," he answered, albeit a tad harshly.

Taken aback by the quiet outlash, Emil sat back and flashed an apologetic gaze. "You know you can trust me, right?" he reminded quietly.

Lips forming a thin line, Lovino could only stare toward the man before him, unable to speak. Trust... What even was that anymore? He knew what happened when you trusted somebody. You trust them with your life, and they play you like a doll. You trust them with your family, and they make it their own. You trust them with your memories, and they leave them with a bittersweet taste.

... You trust them with your heart... And they take it with them when they leave...

Trust was not something that reigned supreme in Lovino. It was not something that remained on his side, not something that he could count on. It was something that would forever haunt him. Yet he would continue to put his faith in trust, in hopes that he could, at long last, be proven that it would be a safe investment. Yet each time, it was ripped away from him, and in the end, he was the one who ended up with a hollow husk, barely recognisable as a man. It was a wonder that his brother could, time and time again, throw himself so blindly into this fickle thing known as 'trust'.

And here he went again, taking a blind leap of faith. Just as food was set before them and the waiter bid farewell, Lovino resolved to foolishly believe, once again, in 'trust'. This was Emil, after all. Not some strange man from some far away land. "I fell in love."

The younger pondered over this for a moment, letting it sink in. How strange of a concept... Sure, Lovino had partners before, and at least one other time, he had claimed to had fallen in love. But none had left him so... well, for lack of better term, heart broken. Thus, Emil regarded Lovino with careful contemplation before cautiously answering, "Well. That answered one of my questions." He breathed out, grabbing up the fork, and let his eyes flick to the food placed before them. "But that still doesn't answer my other question." Emil drew up the bite of food, and blew on it in an attempt to cool it. Why he ordered hot food on a warm summer's day was a mystery to Lovino. "What did you do?"

Shoulders sank as Lovino let the question echo in his mind. He found his own gaze flicking to his food, and suddenly, he felt his stomach clench. How could he eat this...? He felt nauseous, but more than that, he felt as though he didn't have the strength to even lift the utensil placed before him. "That's the thing. I didn't do anything. And that's where I went wrong," he quietly provided as his answer. His eyes flicked to a couple walking past, and his eyes instantly travelled down. His stomach twisted all the more at the confirmation of linked hands and he forced himself to avert his gaze.

"I panicked, and I froze, and I lost him. That's all there is to it," he finally concluded. He willed his arm to lift and grab the utensil, yet it remained against the table, the fork resting in his fingers. At least it was a start. "If I did do something, I wouldn't be so..." So... what? He couldn't even think of the word. It just wouldn't come to him, try as he might. He knew the feeling, he knew the sensation it brought him. But to convey it into word, and furthermore to bring forth in a language he wasn't 100% familiar with... No, he couldn't. It was hard enough with his heart always hiding from him, whispering lies of how it felt in hopes that eyes wouldn't be drawn to it.

Perhaps it was a reflection of himself.

He, as Lovino himself, did not know how to handle eyes upon him. He couldn't decipher the true intent behind whispered words and most certainly not praise. He hid away from the world, turning his back on it, in hopes that one would not reach out and startle him back into his shell. Perhaps it was the reason he did not like to be physically touched, he mused. The thought terrified him, to give someone power over his own will. To trust someone so much as to let them into his own space. A space in which he had built around himself as his secondary wall. A moat, perhaps, that could be crossed, yet only if he lowered the drawbridge to allow for it.

Although there had been one that had swam across the moat and scaled the wall — and Lovino had been the one to throw down the ladder. Perhaps yes, it was after careful contemplation and reflection. But he had done so, nonetheless, and now he realised the fire that he started within the castle he had built around himself. Around his mind, around his being, around his heart. The fire, originally kept within the castle's hearth as a reminder of survival, now raged and burned within him. It seared the walls and scorched the tapestry. It terrified him, he realised, to know that one man could aid in a fire's spread more than a breeze across a dry forest would have.

Damn this, and damn him! Damn that man for burning the one place Lovino had considered a safe haven! Damn him for fuelling the flames and presenting them in such beauty and brilliance! And oh, damn him for leaving Lovino to be the only one surrounded by the monstrous inferno...!

Groaning in aggravation, Lovino found he had lost his will to feed his churning stomach. He pushed away the plate, placed his elbows on the table, pushed his hands through his locks, and hung his head. _**"Che cazzo!"**_ he cursed, murmuring in his first language soon after as he tugged at the strands. He could feel concerned eyes upon him, yet he could not bring himself to care at the moment. His body trembled, his lips quivered, and all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut.

"I was so afraid of getting hurt, I was so damn afraid, and look what happens! I fucking get hurt! I shouldn't have met him on that beach, I shouldn't have danced with him, I shouldn't have opened that bottle from Sadık! I shouldn't have trusted him, damnit!" The words poured forth from his mouth without his meaning to. They spilled from him, and before he knew it, Italian mixed in with his speech. He cursed, again and again, relaying the events of the past week and cursing at "that stupid bastard from Hell."

In no time at all, he could feel hands at his shoulders, gently guiding him up and coaxing him to stand. He listened to the coaxing as his voice died. Shaking violently, he stood taller than the man before him, yet he felt so very, very small... He felt as though he were a child, lost within an amusement park. He could hardly breathe, he could hardly see, he could hardly even think. The same ridicules, the same accusations echoed through his mind.

He was stupid, so very stupid... It wasn't the Spaniard's fault, it wasn't his fault at all. He tried his best, he tried everything he could. He was so gentle, so kind, so sincere. He never pushed, he never pulled. But oh, how Lovino had been drawn to him all the same... That warm sunlight, he had basked in it long enough to find comfort within it. And now, it was gone, replaced with the chilling, darkening night, where monsters roamed free and hunted their prey without restraint. The light of the sun reflected from the moon, illuminating the path, but oh, how it elongated the shadows of the creatures hidden within the darkness...

All Lovino could do was run. Run, and hope to never be caught, to never fall victim to the beasts that stalked him relentlessly. He staggered, he tripped, he scraped his knees, and at some points, he would crawl. But in the end, the monsters knew where he hid, where he ran. He could not escape them, no matter how much he tried, no matter how far he ran. They taunted him and refused to leave him be. They had made a game of his fear, finding enjoyment out of his dilated pupils and panicked breath.

Lovino realised this for the umpteenth time as Emil's hands lead him away his voice quietly urging him to continue, to simply just breathe. Yet the Italian felt as though he could not, as though he had somehow stumbled into a lake, and struggled to reach the surface as the monsters from its bed wrapped their claws around his limbs. Yet the hands gently coaxed him away. They were not strong, they were not harmful, they were not urgent. They were gentle, coaxing, and so very comforting. They were not the arms of strength that had wrapped around him. They were cautious, almost timid. Yet they held a similar care as those arms he had grown fond of with only few embraces...

He could hear murmurs of money being placed upon the table, and instantly, he knew what that meant. Emil had ended up paying for their meal. Their unfinished meal... Lovino's stomach twisted at the thought, and for a moment, he was sure that he would hurl. He could feel his body trembling, feel the panicked breaths and the unsettling sensations. Yet it did not come, not with the arms that ushered him away from prying eyes. A part of him was thankful. But that same part was just about silenced with the screams of anxiety, fear, and desperation. And, most of all, guilt.

He stumbled as he walked, his feet dragging along the concrete at points as Emil lead him away from that place. And before he knew it, he was placed down upon a bench, with his friend squatting down before him. Firm, yet so very gentle, hands grasped at his forearms, rubbing them in a soothing motion. "Breathe, okay, just breathe. It's okay, you're safe. You're not alone, I'm not going anywhere. See, feel this?" Emil reached down to grab at the Italian's hand. The man squeezed the Nordic's appendage a little too tightly, causing the blond to flinch. "I'm right here, see? I'm not leaving you."

Numbly, Lovino nodded at the words. Through blurred vision, he could hardly see the man before him, could hardly make out the shape of his face. He did not know if tears ran down his cheeks or if his eyes simply refused to work in the sheer panic that overtook him, so suddenly and so fiercely. But that voice remained constant. Soothing him, reassuring him, comforting him. His nostrils flared with quickened breaths, yet he found himself thankful that he wasn't gasping for air he could not take in. He was _breathing_. And that was more than he could ask, for the moment.

"Look at me, look right at me, okay? Don't look anywhere else. Can you focus on me?" Emil's voice pierced through the screaming thoughts.

In truth, Lovino did not know. He tried, hard as he could, to see blue eyes through the haze. Yet no matter how many times, he blinked, he could not. His heart drummed within his ears, and he could feel sweat running down his neck. He could not, however, feel the sun beating down on him, though he could see the effects of its brightness right before him.

"That's okay, that's alright. If you can't focus on me, that's okay," Emil reassured, "But don't look away. Look only at me, what you can make out of me. It's alright, it'll pass, just breathe."

Lovino found himself with both hands wrapped tightly around Emil's, refusing to relinquish his grip. He swallowed thickly and though he trembled violently, he found he was not moving from where he sat. Slowly but surely, the features of Emil's face took definition. A gentle brow, a soft curve of a jaw, a thin nose, gentle blue eyes... Little by little, he could slowly make out such details.

He focused on them entirely. He threw himself into describing each and every feature, into memorising it and seeing it as it was. He allowed himself to become lost in it, to the point that the words were no longer reaching his ears. Instead, white noise rang within his eardrums and muted all outside noise. The cicadas, the distant sounds of motors, the light breeze, Emil's voice... Nothing reached Lovino. Yet he watched as the lips moved, in such a gentle and parental sort of way.

Then finally, it all slowly came back to him. The sun's warmth graced his shoulders and back. The breeze cooled his sweat-glazed skin. The words of reassurance entered his ears. The demons retreated to the scarce shadows of the barely-sinking sun, where they would lurk until they no longer had such a barrier around the Italian.

A hand wiped at his cheeks and it was then that he realised the tears that had fallen. Embarrassed, he quickly pulled one of his hands away to clean up his own cheeks, sniffling and glancing away from the man. He murmured an apology and though he did not say it aloud, he apologised for such an unsightly display and sudden breakdown.

Nonetheless, it was met with a relieved sigh and a gentle smile. "It's okay," Emil answered, "It happens."

Lovino grimaced at the tears that now glistened on his hand before wiping it clean on the jeans he wore. "The food—"

"Paid for." Emil breathed out, sitting back on the balls of his feet as he regarded Lovino. His hand did not pull away from the older man's. "And before you say anything, I was already planning on paying it. At least my portion, if not more."

Lovino snorted, eyeing the man. "Did you even leave the right amount?"

The blond pursed his lips, eyes flicking away momentarily in favour of glancing to the sky. He pondered this for a moment before giving a loose shrug, his eyes back to the other. "Probably a bit more than necessary, given the prices, but. It can be a tip," he replied. He then shook his head and straightened, placing both feet firmly on the ground. His fingers gently wrapped around Lovino's, refusing to let go just yet. "That's not important. Are you alright...?"

Eyes of multiple hues stared directly toward Emil for longer than he intended. In truth, he didn't know how to answer that... His lips formed a thin line and though he wanted to lie, yet again, and say that he was alright, he knew it was futile. Emil would be able to see right through that, no doubt, in only a moment's short time. Thus, he simply sniffled, wiped at his eyes, and gave a half-hearted shrug. "Define alright and maybe I'll answer." That was one way to put it, he supposed.

It was answer enough for Emil. Giving a short nod, the man used his free to to gently run his fingers along the side of Lovino's hair, playing with the locks. It was a calming notion, done with such care and caution, Lovino was sure that Emil would pull away if he showed even the slightest bit of discomfort at it. Thus, Lovino elected not to and simply dipped his head, letting his eyes close. The hand weaved through the curly locks, gently tugging at the strands before letting them fall back into place.

"Will you accept a hug?"

"So long as I don't have to get up," Lovino grunted.

"That'll do."

Light footsteps, the shifting of clothes, and Emil's hand left his. But right after, arms wrapped around the Italian and pulled him to a small chest. Thankful for the rare gesture of affection, Lovino lifted his hand to gently grip at Emil's arm, dipping his head down into it as it pulled him closer. He could feel his friend's cheek against his head, feel the smaller man trembling, ever so slightly.

Eyes sliding open halfway, Lovino realised just why this place reigned so familiar to him. His free hand rested against his upper thigh, fingers gently pressing against the subtle protrusion. For, now he would let it comfort him, rather than let it give cause for another heartache. Sucking in a breath, he pulled away from the hug and the man beside him returned to his own spot. Quietly, he thanked his friend, and it was returned with a nod.

After a brief moment's contemplation, Lovino spoke out. "I want... to go into detail. About what happened."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Emil nod in agreement to listen, and Lovino pushed himself back. His arms crossed over his stomach, his back pressed against the bench, and his head tilted up toward the sky. Idly, he watched as the scarce clouds lazily drifted by, thankful for the distraction for his eye. Else they may try to venture to one who was not there... "A week ago, Feliciano and I had a fight," he began, "It was about what to do regarding the hospital. I wanted to find a job and pay for it myself; Feliciano wanted me to use Nonno's money. It didn't rest well with me.

"Some... far-from-kind words flew that night, and we both hung up hurt and upset. When I was... singing... on the balcony... I felt like someone was watching me. I look down at the beach, and I see this... man... Just standing there." Both his tone and gaze softened. It had been an aggravating memory at first, he realised. Even just the day before, he had regarded it with ill contempt. It had been unsettling to him, until he finally, just last night, had discovered its significance.

If he hadn't been on that balcony, he realised, it would not have kickstarted the events that were to follow. And thus, he mentioned just that, before continuing on with his story. He spoke of preparing for the job interview, and of accidentally stumbling upon men who recalled his face. His voice quieted at this, and he found himself hesitating to speak. But with the quiet urgings of Emil, he continued on with his story, spilling the accidental meeting with the Spanish bastard and the twisting of his ankle.

He mentioned how he had tried to flee, at that moment, and leave the man to deal with them, but could not bring himself to do so. He spoke of the events that followed after, of the very bench they sat upon and the first meal they had together. He spilled each and every detail out into the open, from the very beginning, to the drunken night. And when he came to that very night, he could hardly find himself able to speak. He had laughed in his retelling, and he had slowly began joking about the things that were said and done, but upon coming up toward the kiss, he found himself unable to speak, for a moment.

But, he managed to push through it, and eventually, he quietly recalled the morning after. He spoke of his fear, of his guilt, yet not guilt of the events themselves. The guilt of the words he had spoken, of the despair he had brought upon who could've been a total stranger, had he refused the offer of a free meal.

"I was... stupid..." he murmured quietly. He had shifted from his position, his elbows now upon his knees as his fingers laced together. His brow furrowed and his lips turned down into a frown, he stared ahead with contempt. "I didn't explain myself properly. I was so terrified of him seeing me... like that, I just... pushed him away. I didn't even stop to think, for one second, that I had already opened up to him more than I should have — and he stayed despite everything I mentioned.

"I never acted like I was the most stable person ever. Hell. I even told him of... Mama e Papa. And he stayed. Someone who witnesses that... Surely you gotta know, somewhere inside you, that they're going to be pretty, well, messed up."

"Yet he stayed with you..." Emil finished.

Lovino's gaze flicked to Emil, and slowly, he nodded. "He stayed. When everyone else ran, he stayed. And I took that for granted."

" _You_ didn't. _Your anxiety_ did," Emil corrected, his eyes locking on Lovino's. "You didn't have control of that part, did you? It wasn't your fault."

Damnit, he could feel his eyes misting again. Sniffling once, the Italian glanced away and wiped at his eyes. Yet a gentle smile tugged at his lips. "Gracias..." he spoke softly, "I didn't know how much I needed to hear that."

Emil stared. His eyes reflected careful contemplation, until finally, he quietly noted, "Gracias? I didn't know you knew..."

Spanish. He had just spoken Spanish, not Italian. Letting out a hollow, almost forced, laugh, Lovino pushed a hand through his hair. He found himself shaking his head, muttering to himself in his native language for a brief couple of sentences. His eyes then flicked to Emil, where he forced the tiniest of smiles. "I don't. Maybe I forgot to mention... Antonio's home is Madrid." That was the first time he had mentioned the man's name since that night, he realised, only shortly after it had left his lips.

It sounded so foreign on his tongue, he realised... He had hardly even spoken that name while he was here, and now... His lips formed a thin line as he averted his gaze. There had been only a few instances he had used that name. Instances in which would forever be burned in his mind. He wasn't as drunk as he played out to be... No, it would've taken so much more to highly intoxicate him than just a few measly glasses. Tipsy? Hell yeah, he had been. It may have influenced his actions, but most certainly only in the slightest.

"Antonio..." The name started Lovino out of his thoughts, and his eyes once again returned to his friend. Emil stared at him with a contemplative expression. "Haven't I heard that name somewhere before?"

Lovino snorted, his back straightening. He rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and his back pressed against the bench as his legs extended before him. "You've been around me enough to hear about the German bastards' friend," he commented.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see realisation dawning in Emil's eyes. "So he's Ludwig's friend!"

A nod. "I realised it the moment he mentioned Gilbert and Francis."

"Wouldn't you have noticed sooner that it was him, then?"

This time, Lovino shook his head. "No..." He wished he had noticed, in all honesty. "I never met the guy. I've been around Gilbert and Ludwig long enough to hear his name, but. Never met him, myself."

"Not until..."

"... Right. Not until a little over a week ago." For a brief moment, there was silence. The information slowly absorbed into Emil, as Lovino sat, reflecting on the past week. His mind wandered back to the night before, and he pursed his lips. His brother truly did confuse him sometimes...

He breathed in, his nostrils flaring with the rush of air, and let it out in a huff. He couldn't just sit here, feeling sorry for himself. He had already wasted enough of Emil's precious time as it was, and no doubt, he had to get back to the others, before too long. With that in mind, Lovino threw his hands upon his knees and pushed himself forward. "Well," he started as he stood, "Best be gettin' you home." He gestured for Emil to follow suit, before pocketing his hands. "Pretty sure Lukas will be calling you within the hour." Considering that Lovino had just run off with the boy without much of a prior warning...

At least they knew him, he mused. So it couldn't have been too bad. God, he hoped that would be the case. He didn't want to have to listen to an earful from all four caretakers, not today. Perhaps another day, but most certainly not before the sun rose the following morning.

Seeing as how Emil stood beside him, Lovino gestured with a nod of his head and started off. He kept his stride a lazy one, as to not allow for Emil to lag behind. "I guess I should correct myself," he spoke up after a brief moment's silence. "I _have_ met him before. A long time ago."

Emil cocked a brow toward the Italian. "You failed to mention it before."

"That's because I didn't know about it until last night," Lovino pointed out. He kicked at the cement, his shoe scuffing along the rough surface. "Feliciano told me about it."

"You never told me exactly what happened with him."

... Right. Lovino regarded Emil with a single glance, his gait faltering. He had completely let that slip from him... He was too caught up in his own emotions, his own memories, he had neglected to give a proper explanation of just what he and his brother had gone through. God, he could be such an idiot sometimes... Breathing out, Lovino lifted a hand and pushed it through his locks, letting them fall back into place as his gaze flicked to the sky. "How to put this simply..." He supposed he could always start from the beginning, just as he had with the other stories.

As they walked, he opted to just pour out his heart. The bypassers wouldn't pay him any mind, anyhow; they wouldn't pay attention to the conversation of two English-speaking men. Even so, he did not care if they heard of his tales. If they listened in, that was their own damn problem.

Thus, he spilled out his words. He told Emil of the phone call that had startled him out of a sobbing fit, of how he had damn near tripped over the couch in his attempt to crawl off it in order to retrieve the phone. He told the man of how he had reassured his brother that he would be okay, that no, he hadn't started singing. He explained, in more depth this time, of the argument that had happened a week prior, of the apologies that were spoken just the night prior to bumping into Emil. He found himself hesitating at trying to explain such details, but oh, he felt that he had to — albeit without a detail or two that he deemed unimportant.

Then, he addressed Emil's inquiry of Antonio, mentioning Feliciano's retold story of the cat in Venice, of the Spaniard who had been so kind as to help out the younger one. (Apparently, Lovino, himself, had run off to find help, to which the elder could fully recall.) He then went on to other matters, such as how Antonio apparently slept in the room in the exact same house as Feliciano and Ludwig, to which Emil commented on life's mysteries. It earned a chuckle out of the man, yet no more.

And finally, he came to the subject at hand — Lovino's outright ignoring of Feliciano. Quietly, he explained of his own annoyance at his brother's constant pestering, of the guilt that held so thick in his heart. Feliciano had tried to mend things over the phone, regarding Antonio, but Lovino would have none of it. Lovino, himself, explained this, though he could not give a reason. Not to Feliciano, himself. "I couldn't bother him with it. I can tell him I've had problems with the doctors, but I can't tell him they took me off my medication," Lovino admitted quietly, a frown overtaking his lips. "He'd flip. Probably try to get Kiku to help out, try to get him to write a recommendation or some shit..."

Emil regarded Lovino with sympathy. "But Kiku can't do that, can he?"

Lovino shook his head. "No. He's still in uni. He can't do anything regarding prescriptions, referrals, or even medical visits," he explained, "He's only an intern, and a very basic one, at that. But you know how stubborn Feliciano is."

"I blame those puppy-dog eyes of his." An attempt to lighten the mood, Lovino caught on.

And at this, the Italian chuckled, his lips twitching into the smallest of smirks. He glanced to Emil, his shoulders lowering slightly as they relaxed. "Yeah. They always get him his way, don't they?"

"Ever since I've known you two, they have."

"Well. Let's just say, even through 20 years, nothing's changed."

"Maybe it's his saving grace."

Lovino rolled his shoulders. "To be truthful? Most likely." More like no doubt about it. Nonetheless, he continued, nearing the conclusion of his little tale. With the background information out of the way, he delved right into the events of this morning, of his annoyances regarding Feliciano's constant check-ins with him, and the constant concern the younger presented. He admitted, it was nice to have a family member worry over him, but at the same time, it was something that he feared. He was the older one. He was supposed to be looking out for his younger siblings, acting as a role model for them both. He mentioned this, too, to his friend as they walked along, making their way back to the marketplace.

They did not reach such a place. Just as they rounded a corner, familiar voices called out for their attention. Their steps faltered, and up ahead, they could see two men rushing toward them — one jogging while the other lagged behind. A cheery grin, a bright wave, and soon enough, Mathias was upon them, giving a greeting of his own as Lovino bid him a good afternoon. They exchanged smiles and pleasantries as Lukas caught up to his over-excited lover, and before long, the conversation switched to Emil, himself.

Questions of whether or not the boy was "good" popped up, and Lovino, being who he was, claimed that Emil had caused him trouble — only to have it shot down by Mathias's outright denial of such. Emil nudged Lovino with an elbow, giving a slight frown at his friend's antics, but soon replacing it with a reassuring smile. He hadn't done him wrong by teasing him in such things. Lovino, in turn, returned the nudge with a slight shove of his shoulder, knocking Emil temporarily off balance.

Lukas pitched in with his own mentions of Naples, once again giving it his approval. An effort to try to win Lovino over, shown as he soon questioned as to whether or not the man would be joining them for supper. Unfortunately, it had to be turned down by the brunet, who claimed he already had dinner plans reserved. An apology, and an admittance of having to leave in order to prepare for the coming night, and the three bid farewell to the resident of such a lively place.

Lovino found himself smiling as he gave a wave to the retreating forms, the smirk tugging at one corner of his lips. "You guys take care of him, ah?" he called after them, "He's a good kid!" He was answered with a shout of approval from Mathias, and a word of sarcasm from Lukas, and he stood and watched as the forms left him. The voices faded from his ears, drowned out by the others who walked the streets of Napoli. Couples, friends, families... They all passed him by without so much as a single glance. Even as his hand lowered and his eyes no longer focused on the disappearing forms, he found he could not move just yet.

The noise all around him did not echo in his ears. It did not even reach them. His smile had faded and his hand hung limp at his side. The colourful sky was once again a dull monochrome. Everything was as it had always been. And Lovino knew of no other.

Letting this realisation sink in, Lovino started for the only place he could truly call home, in such a foreign world. That small house by the sea, where a mother's lullaby would rock him to sleep. Regardless of the time of day, she would sing, never to stop. And only now had Lovino become aware of her song. Now that another had pointed out her gentle caresses, long forgotten since those days that had caused him so much pain and suffering. That left him the broken shell of a man he was today.

Strong... Like hell he was.

Tightening his jaw, Lovino picked up his pace. His fingers curled inwards, his vision blurred, and his footsteps fell heavy against the pavement. He wasn't strong. God, he was so far from it... He was barely surviving — if you could even call it that. He just drifted through his life, pretending that he knew what the hell he was doing. And the moment he was left alone, the moment there was nothing to distract him from the demons that preyed so viciously on him, he was reduced to _this_. A terrified little boy with only the urge to run and hide from all the displeasures of the world, yet unable to find a closet in which to lock himself into until his parents returned home from their ventures.

He wasn't brave. He was scared. It wasn't strength that pushed him on, it wasn't courage or bravery. It wasn't even will. It was running blindly from monsters that preyed in the night. It was panicked breaths and tripping over your own two feet, again and again. It was tumbling down a steep hill, your body like a ragged doll as it hit rock and stump alike on its excruciatingly painful descent. That wasn't bravery. That was sheer terror.

Terror of the very face that stared right back at you each time you caught a glimpse of your own reflection. Because oh, how demons loved to lurk within one's own eyes... How they revelled in wearing their victim's very skin...

If he was strong, it wasn't him who was keeping himself strong, his own mind and his own will. The demons were toying with him. They preyed on him, threatened to end his life, in due time. Yet they barely even scratched, and mocked him each time he screamed and recoiled in terror. They'd giggle, holding their stomachs as they rolled upon their backs, their bony legs kicking in the air at the sheer delight of the horror their curved claws could cause. They kept him alive just so they could watch him flee in vain. Just so they could watch him fall to his knees, holding himself as his body violently trembled with broken sobs he just barely managed to keep behind closed doors.

Perhaps one of these days, he would not even be able to make it to that door.

A mother's song slowly made its way to his ears. It filled his senses, washed over him. It ebbed away the darkness in his mind, chased off the demons at his feet. She sung to him with such tenderness and understanding, he found his feet stalling, until they moved no longer. The wind through his unkempt hair felt as though they were fingers, gently caressing him and reassuring him with their touch. They touched his hair, his face, his neck, his shoulders. The breeze was an embrace, with the song being a blanket.

He could feel the tears welling in his eyes as he gazed out upon the rolling waves. He could feel his hands trembling, his legs weak. His chest felt tight, and his throat just about closed. The whole world felt heavy upon his shoulders. And try as he might, he could not see the brilliant blue of the sea before him. It were as though the sky were overcast, as though the rays of the sun did not currently beat down upon him. Yet that sweet, calming voice did not stop.

She sang to him of faraway places, of grand adventures, and loving, unbroken families. She sang to him of peace and quiet. She sang of wonder and curiosity, like that of a child, yet the knowledge and wisdom of the elderly. Most of all, she sung to him of sleep.

And as tears rolled down his cheeks, Lovino questioned why he had never heard her song before. It was not one of sadness, it was not one of longing. It was of memory, of happiness, of comfort. Of home. They were not the songs of his heart, they were not the songs of his past. Or rather... They were not the shadows of his past, simply the bright rays that had illuminated the darkness. And he had been deaf to her songs for years and years. All it took was one man to change that, and now he, too, resided in the sea.

Perhaps he was not gone forever. No, far from it. He had not sunk in a physical sense, but now, it was all Lovino had to remember him by. Each memory formed, each vivid image that played within his mind, it connected back to the sea. Locking eyes for the first time, learning of the motherly lullaby, hearing the song of the Spaniard's soul for the first time, kicking up water in a playful fit, kicking up sand as they danced... He had already known he was long gone, by that time. There was no point in even trying to salvage who he had been. He had already shifted with the tides, and could only continue to be pulled by the current.

And now, he drowned in it.

Struggling, gasping for air, limbs flailing, failing to choke out a scream... When he had admitted to himself that he wanted to drown, he did not even come to think that it would feel like this. He did not think his vision would blur, that the world would darken, that he would only think of the surface he could never again reach. He had already shoved that world away from him, had already pushed himself away from the jagged rocks of the shore that were now stained in the blood of his naked feet.

It had been his own fear of the ocean that lead him to lose sight of the sun, high above the choppy waves. No, the sun had not betrayed him. It poured its radiant light down upon him, just as it had from the moment it rose into the sky. It was he who stopped swimming, allowed himself to be pulled under the waves, to be tossed and turned by the rough currents that hid beneath the surface. He wanted to hope, wanted to believe, that the sun would still be waiting for him, if he were to kick his feet and break the surface. But he feared that it had long since set, for he no longer had its warm to wrap around his so very cold frame.

Damn these memories! They would serve him no good, they never had. The ocean's song taunted him now, with sorrows and the life he could not reach. It had fled passed his fingertips, and he stood motionless, his hand outstretched and his feet unable to lift from the ground. Just as before, just as it would always be. That was the fate of this world, that was the fate of the damned Lovino Romano Vargas!

That accursed name would follow him, and he should not have let it leave a stranger's lips! Not that one... God, not that one...

Tears pouring forth in waves that tore through his very soul, Lovino dug into his pocket and withdrew the hidden medallion. He didn't even know why he kept this stupid thing on him, why he felt the need to touch it — ever so gently — through the fabric of his jeans whenever he felt emotional distress. He didn't know why he needed to held it, why he put so much faith in it. But each time he held it, he could only picture the one connected to the trinket. A smiling face, bright eyes, an airy voice... Each and every part that he just could not reach, like the memories that had been lost to the raging sea.

Perhaps this, too, should flee from him.

It wasn't out of anger that he threw it. It wasn't out of spite, or out of terror. It was out of guilt, of pity for himself. Afterall, it wasn't Antonio who broke his promise. It was Lovino who had forced him to abandon it.

He watched a the sun reflected off the metal, for only a brief second, before it disappeared into the waves. He hadn't thrown it far, he realised, and no doubt it would reveal itself when the waves pulled back into the sea, but it was the significance of the throw in itself. At first, he was numb. But as it crashed in around him, he could only feel an overwhelming amount of despair.

Protection... Nothing could protect him, not when it was his own mind that plagued him, his own past, his own memories. His own future.

A sob bubbling up from his throat, Lovino held himself tightly, his fingernails biting into skin as he sunk to his knees. His whole body trembled as tears dripped from his chin. His lips quivered, his vision blurred, and he found himself rocking. He was a broken man, unable to even hold himself up, let alone push himself onward. He could barely make it through life as it was, and this... God, this only proved that he didn't even have the strength to reach out when he most needed it. He was too fearful to, too proud. Too arrogant. The one person he felt comfortable with sharing his demons with, he had shoved away and forced to leave.

He didn't _want_ help. He didn't want to burden, he didn't want to go through the whole process. He didn't want to rely on others, he didn't want to be in debt to anyone else. He didn't want to pay out of pocket in order to just breathe again! He just wanted, for once in his life, _**to be okay!**_

Was that so much to ask for? Was that really that difficult to achieve? Was that really something that would not come for him, until he could no longer move from the weight crushing down on him? Until he threw in the towel and told the demons, "you win"?

He did not want to go back there, he did not want events to repeat, he did not want to see his brother crying yet again! There were not supposed to be tears on his younger sibling's cheeks, not because of him! He was supposed to be strong, he was supposed to be a role model, he was supposed to be someone his younger siblings could look up to and count on! He wasn't supposed to be broken, he wasn't supposed to give up and give in! Goddamnit, he wasn't supposed to be the reason his brothers refused to live out their lives!

He knew far too well of their fear, of their demons, of their troubles, of their caution. He knew why they plagued his phone with messages and phone calls. He knew why they refused to laugh, love, and live! Sure, he hardly spoke to Romeo, hardly even knew the damn guy's age. But even he worried for the eldest sibling to check in at least once a week, with a simple 'hi'! And oh, how Lovino knew of the meaning behind that...

_"Hey, you're still alive, right...?"_

Time and time again, they reached out for him, just to assure that he was still breathing, that he was still pushing onward, with broken legs beneath him. Pieces of him falling all around, and they would assure that he was still trying his hardest to pull himself together, that he was reaching out, that he wouldn't once again end up where he shouldn't. And where has it lead him?

Here. A hand reaching out, firmly grasping his own, and he had so suddenly ripped it away and kicked at its owner. He had been falling, so very fast, and he had allowed it. In so many ways, he had fallen, and it was a pair of strong hands and a soothing voice that kept him from falling apart. And he had so viciously forced it to recoil, as though its owner had angered a snake. Perhaps that's all he was. Perhaps he was just a snake, unsure of whether or not to let others near, and when they least expect it, he would strike and force them to leave.

He needed to stop these thoughts, he needed to get himself under control. The whole world spun around him, and he felt he could hardly breathe. He couldn't remember where he sat, couldn't hear the mother's calls. He needed to get himself out of control, yet he couldn't even see, with the tears that filled his eyes. He could hardly even recognise if he had been crying audibly, or if he had been silent, with his lips parted and his body rocking back and forth.

But whatever it had been, he was not silent now. No, he did not scream. He did not wail. He did not sob. But through a broken, cracked, distorted voice, he slowly began a song that had graced his ears, only a little while ago.

_"Quassù il cielo è mio...  
_ _Mi vedo l'anima, io volo..."_

He sucked in a breath, his fingers pressing into his skin. He held it for a moment, then slowly let it back out. He threw himself into the song, threw himself into the lyrics. He imagined the instrumentals, the way it was to be sung, and forced himself into that realm. Nothing else mattered. It was just him, his voice, and the song. Nothing else existed. Pain, fear, worry... It was nonexistent to him, in his own world. In a world where no one could touch him, where the darkness could not surround him.

_"Guardami, sentimi, sono qui, toccami_  
_Sento il freddo dell'asfalto, salvami  
_ _Salvami_

_"Parlami, ascoltami, sono qui, aspettami  
_ _Pioggia—"_

_"Lluvia y nieve en las alas, sálvame"_

That was not his own voice. His voice hitched as he suddenly heard the new voice in his own world, shattering the illusion around him. His head snapped up just as his eyes flung open. And he could only stare. He could not breathe, and he could have sworn his heart refused to beat. His words had died in his throat, and the music had faded from his memory. He didn't know what to expect, he didn't know how to react. He could only gaze at the man that so very cautiously strode toward him, his rolled-up trousers soaked by the waves.

Lovino watched as the man crouched before him, and calloused hands so very gently coaxed his own to unwind from his body. Cool metal pressed into his palm and he didn't need the hand pressing his fingers closed in order to curl his fingers around the cross. Tears filled the emerald eyes he gazed into, threatening to fall. The man's body trembled and quivered as though pushed by the wind that stung the Italian's eyes.

And there it was. The lopsided, apologetic smile. But so forced compared to what Lovino could recall. "Lo siento, Lovi," Antonio spoke in a quiet tone. His voice cracked and nearly faltered entirely. "I don't know it in Italian." His hands pulled away, and Lovino found himself yearning for the warmth that left with them.

Brows furrowing, Lovino's lips turned down into a scowl. No... More of a pout. He didn't know whether to smile, whether to frown. Thus, he couldn't scowl, he couldn't display anger. Just mild confusion. "You just randomly appear in Napoli," he answered, in a tone just as quiet, "and _that's_ the first thing you apologise for?" He pictured a reunion so very many times, just the day before. But he had never imagined it to go something like this, where his eyes were as red as the setting sun.

A chuckle met his ears, and oh, how he yearned to hear more. It flooded over him, caressed him, and even when those eyes glanced away, nervous, he only wanted them to return. But he didn't voice these. Lovino breathed out a sigh through his nose, his arms falling to his sides, as he leaned forward. He let his forehead fall against Antonio's chest, defeated. He did not stand. He did not shift. He simply slumped forward.

And the moment skin met fabric, there were arms around him. They were cautious, gentle, as though afraid to crush him. But as Lovino sat there, they tightened around him and pulled him closer. His rump was lifted off of his heels and he stood on his knees, where he found himself having to shift so he could place his forehead into the crook of Antonio's neck. The scent of spices and flowers filled his nostrils and he allowed for himself to drown in them. His hands lifted, fingers clasped tightly around the cross, and embraced the man before him. He pulled him closer, and closer, and closer, until he felt there would be no space left between him.

There, he cried. His shoulders trembled as it poured out of him, as strong hands held him together and gingerly flattened each protruding piece of him with a gentle caress. He whispered apologies, again and again, and each one was met with reassurance and words of forgiveness. And oh, how the words of understanding clung to him... Understanding... Antonio understood... He _understood_ the turmoils of the darkness that threatened to overtake them. Lovino did not know whether to be comforted or frightened by that fact. Not frightened of the Spaniard, but rather, for him.

The moment the apologies died down, until Lovino was only left whimpering in Antonio's arms, was the same moment that the song continued, once again, ever so softly. With fingers combing through unwashed locks, Antonio rocked and sweetly finished the song. Lovino allowed himself to listen, hanging on every word. He had heard the man play guitar. He had heard him laugh, heard him tease, heard him whine. But only once had he heard him sing — and it had the same exact effect on him now as it did then.

It was far better than a mother's lullaby, he concluded.

The song ended far too soon. Lovino knew that it was a short melody. He knew there weren't many lyrics to it. He knew that half the lyrics were repeated. But God, he wanted to hear more... He didn't want that voice to stop singing. It calmed him, silenced the thoughts in his head. And through the song, he had found himself in the Spaniard's lap, with his legs curled to one side of the man's torso. He would not argue against it, he would not pull away. And God forbid he'd push away... He learned his lesson from that, already...

Breathing in the scent, he allowed for the silence to overtake them both. He could hear the demons whispering to one another, but none dared to venture near. He instead opted to tune them out, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of the heartbeat against his ear. The lungs expanding and contracting with each intake of breath. The fingers that played with his hair. The hand that caressed his back. The chaste, fleeting kisses pressed against his crown. He let it surround him in all of its entirety, not wanting to let it go.

If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.

Perhaps that was why he refused to open his eyes when he spoke, his voice quieter than he remembered. "How did you get here...?"

At first, there was silence, and Lovino almost feared the man had left him. He knew it was impossible, but try telling that to the irrational mind of a far too depressed soul.

"It's a long story..." Antonio mumbled into auburn locks. The sand shifted as he readjusted their position, his legs cradling Lovino's rump. "Let's just say I have a huge debt to pay to my brother..."

Lovino snorted. "You're not gettin' off that hook that easily. I want the full play-by-play."

Antonio's breath weaved through Lovino's hair as the man sighed. Lovino could feel him slump, just slightly, against the Italian at the realisation that he would have to explain himself. And so early into their meeting, at that... A light squeeze, and Antonio's arms reluctantly unwound from the Italian's frame. Their eyes met, and a hand reached to wipe the tears on Lovino's cheek. Antonio offered a kind smile. Yet his eyes, with dark circles hanging about, looked so very tired... "Know a good place around here for coffee?"

"You askin' me out on a date?"

A pause. Then quietly, "Sí."

That... wasn't quite the answer he was expecting... Breathing out, Lovino's eyes flicked away and he carefully pulled away from Antonio. "Alright... Alright, but you're payin'," he agreed. He shifted off of the man and pocketed the trinket, his hand reaching down toward the Spaniard. The man's eyes were elsewhere before they flicked to the hand outstretched for him. With a small murmur of gratitude, Antonio firmly grasped the hand and pulled himself up — and right into Lovino. Lovino found his breath failing him for a brief moment as the man moved against him, his arm wrapping around him as his other lagged behind. Too caught up in the kiss that pressed against his cheek, Lovino had not realised the hand that had snaked into his pocket, not until Antonio pulled away.

A weight pressed against his chest and cool metal hung around the back of his neck. His eyes flicked down, and once again, there it was, dangling around his neck. The cross.

"It's not going to protect you if you don't wear it."

Lovino's eyes flicked to Antonio again, and he found himself breathing out a sigh. Idiot... A trinket like this couldn't protect him... Still, he couldn't help but find himself putting at least a little faith into it, now that he found himself in sunlight, rather than darkness. "Yeah, yeah... You Spaniards and your frickin' legends..."

Antonio laughed lightly at this and gave a pat to Lovino's shoulder, guiding him away from the waves and toward the street. "We're not the only ones who believe the cross protects us. Feliciano seemed to agree with me."

"Ah. So you _did_ meet him." He knew Feliciano would not have lied to him. But being on the phone with him and not hearing the Spaniard's voice, well... Let's just say there had indeed been some speculation. Perhaps, however, it was simply Lovino's mind trying to play tricks on him, just as it always had the habit of doing.

Antonio nodded as the two started off toward the street, his eyes not on the Italian. "I spoke with him this morning," he answered as his shoes dug into the sand. "He was the one who fully convinced me to just leave." A beat. "Leave Berlin, I mean."

Of course it would be Feliciano... The man was ruled by emotion and emotion alone. He knew his way with words, knew how to use them just right in order to convey his meaning. He knew how to fight, how to defend himself. But his pride in his words was much stronger, and the strength behind those words... Well, if a punch couldn't bring a man to his knees, Feliciano's words surely would, in a heartbeat.

Lovino breathed out a sigh at this, his eyes flicking skyward momentarily. "Kid's one hell of a motivator, I'll give him that." A noise of agreement from the Spaniard beside him. He pursed his lips, contemplating his choices as they stepped upon the road, and started on down toward the only place he felt comfortable going, for now.

Antonio was sure to follow, but as they neared the Italian's house, a hand reached out to timidly touch an elbow. This caught Lovino's attention, whose steps faltered and eyes flicked toward the man in curiosity. "Can we... stop by your house? I left something by your door, so..." With the words spoken, Antonio tossed a sheepish smile. "It's kind of important that you have it."

Lovino's gaze flicked to the house, then back to Antonio again, and he cocked his head. So the damn guy just appears out of nowhere and stopped by his house, leaving a present for him. Then just so happens to find him down at the beach. Talk about a trashy romance novel... Well. Lovino was already hooked, best just play along with it. "Alright, but we better make it quick. We don't want the coffee shop closing on us." Thus, he changed the directions of his steps, ever so slightly. His intention had been to cross the street at the next convenient moment; now, it was to continue on with the path he already walked.

With footsteps following after him, the Italian made his way up toward the house and onto his porch. Already, memories were resurfacing. Such as the night he was left with the Spaniard's guitar... A lump did not form in his throat, tears did not form in his aching eyes. Instead, it was the fluttering of butterflies, the catching of a breath, the faltering of footsteps. Hesitantly, he cast a glance over his shoulder at the sound of his name. He shook off the feeling with the reassurance that he was okay, and made his way to the door.

There it was, just as Antonio had said. A box, with a bow so very carefully tied atop it. Lovino could almost laugh at just how cheesy it looked. "Really," Lovino deadpanned, "I'm gonna have to check my calendar. Could've sworn it wasn't my birthday." He reached down to snatch up the gift, surveying it for a moment. It was heavy in his hands, and he could not judge the object by its size alone.

But just before he could untie the bow at the top, a hand reached out to rest atop his own. "You sure you want to go out for coffee, Lovino...? We can just sit and talk somewhere, we don't have to go out anywhere," he murmured. "You look... tired..."

Lovino's first instinct was to give into his pride. Claim that he was fine and demand that they go to the coffee shop. He wanted to hold himself up high, he wanted to straighten his back and seem as though he could take on the world. But he was so very tired... And in such company, what point was there to even try to pretend...? Antonio already knew the truth. So quietly, the Italian gestured to the door. "Come inside." He balanced the gift on one hand as he dug into his pocket for the keys, but before he could draw them up, the weight lifted from his hand. He glanced to Antonio to see the man now burdened himself with its weight, and did not complain over such.

Rather, he allowed for it to happen, silently thanking the man for his help as he inserted the key into its slot and twisted. A satisfying click and Lovino was free to push the door open. He was the first to enter, and once inside, he stepped out of the way for Antonio to enter. The door closed behind them, and Lovino set the lock into place. He gestured, then, to the kitchen, where he followed Antonio's form after removing his own shoes.

The box was placed atop the table, where Lovino had indicated upon being asked, and Lovino was grabbing up the phone he had left upon his countertop. His stomach twisted at the sight of the messages, of the many phone calls and texts he had ignored. He could only imagine his brother's desperation... Guilt began creeping up in the back of his mind, and he quickly shot a text to his sibling. "I'm alright," it read, "Antonio's here. I'll explain later." Within only a few seconds, the text had been seen.

Lovino switched off the phone's backlight and set it down upon the countertop once more, thankful he at least got that out of the way. But now, he had another task to attend to. He grabbed out the coffee maker, setting it atop the countertop, and reached for the coffee grinds. "Make yourself comfortable, I guess," he spoke to the man who had already taken up residence at the table. He seemed to be interested in the box, readjusting its position so it lay parallel with the edges of the table. "But I hope you know you'll have to explain everything now, as I'm makin' this."

Eyes were on him, and then flicked away, and Lovino could feel the tension hanging about the room. God, he hated it... He wanted to get rid of it, himself, but he knew it wasn't as simple as brushing away cobwebs from an old barn. These were emotions and anxieties, and those were near impossible to command.

"Well... Feliciano recognised me instantly," Antonio began. Lovino could only hum at this. The boy had an impeccable memory, ever since childhood. He seemed ditzy and air-brained, but if you were to ask him to paint a scene from his third week of being fifteen, he'd probably be able to. ... Okay, so maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. "He told me of the story of... Venezia." Even now, Antonio was cautious in his pronunciation, Lovino noted. "And how I got a cat down. I didn't remember it until he mentioned it. Apparently, we met way back then."

Lovino nodded as he filled the coffee pot with water. "As I've been told," he commented. "My brother mentioned that when he spoke. Small world." He replaced the filter and began to scoop the grinds inside. Gently, he patted them down as he listened to the story of their conversation. Of the mentions of the cruise, of Feliciano's and Ludwig's meeting, of the fight... His stomach twisted, his motions faltered, at the realisation that it was Feliciano who had caused Antonio to notice the small signs. The signs that there was so much more to Lovino than he had fully let on...

Yet Antonio did not seem distraught by this, did not seem as though he held resentment for Lovino's own emotions and minds. Rather, it was that same topic again of understanding... While Antonio didn't have to mention it, it was there, lying in the backdrop of his words, lacing through his speech and recollection. And just as soon as the topic had been brushed upon, it had been dismissed, and Antonio continued on with his story, while Lovino set the coffee on to boil.

Quietly, almost timidly, Antonio admitted of his retelling of the story to Feliciano. Lovino could feel his cheeks heat at the knowledge that his brother now knew of his romantic adventures, but, well... He supposed that he, too, was at fault for that. He had been the one, after all, who called his younger sibling up just to rant about the frustrating Spaniard that kept finding himself in his home, or at least near it. His eyes, however, darted to Antonio with a sharp gaze. "You didn't tell him about the sex, did you?"

Antonio's cheeks flushed and he seemed to draw in on himself. Lovino, with his phone in hand, stared on in scrutiny. The Spaniard seemed to shrink at the gaze. "I may have mentioned it," he murmured.

Great.

Heartbeat thrumming in his chest, Lovino groaned and pressed a palm to his face, slumping against the counter. Now his brother knew that he basically just slept with a stranger. That would be fantastic for the family biography... Well, it's not like the brothers hadn't encountered worse. One-night flings, while not common, weren't exactly unheard of. They both had their fair share of sexual adventures — though it's most certainly not something you would have expected of Feliciano.

Well. He had to just move on. Lovino motioned for Antonio to continue, and when he did, Lovino only found his cheeks reddening all the more. Of course there would be the mention of the song... And of course Feliciano would let Antonio know it was Lovino who set it up! He was going to strangle his sibling, he just knew it! Snatching up his phone, he quickly glanced over the text sent to him, simply stating that Feliciano looked forward to hearing all about it. Lovino decided to ignore it for now.

"Pink Martini. You're dead." That's all he had to type, he figured, for his younger sibling to understand. With that squared away, he focused his complete attention on Antonio, who now glanced to and fro. The retelling had quieted, for a brief moment, and Lovino found himself curious.

The man seemed troubled... His brows were furrowed, his lips turned down in the slightest of frowns. But it was of a more worried kind, rather than an angered... Lovino lowered his phone as he gazed upon the beauty sitting in his dining room, taking it in for a moment. What could have him so swept away...? Before he could ask, Antonio was continuing his story.

"When Miguel woke me up the next morning, Feliciano and Francis were waiting for me in the kitchen. We... talked... for a long while." Once again, his cheeks were tinted pink as he glanced down toward the table. "About... you."

Lovino froze in his reach for the mugs. He spared him only a glance before returning to his mission, pulling out two small cups and placing them on the counter. He let Antonio continue, his heart beating wildly in his chest as the man spoke of how they had all interrogated him on his interest in Lovino. His love for him, he eventually found.

The Italian had to brace himself against the countertop at that word. His heartbeat resounded in his ears as he felt his legs tremble. He was sure that by now, his ears were tinted pink, if not red. He swallowed and forced himself to continue his work.

"I'm sorry," Antonio spoke, "if that... upsets you. But I... have to say it."

The voice was closer. The chair had moved, Lovino realised, and he had been too deafened by his own heart to notice it. He tried to ignore it, instead focusing on the matter at hand. He reached for the rag, snatched it up, and turned off the heat to the coffee. Ever so carefully, it he picked it up and positioned it over the two mugs.

"I don't mean to sound... crazy... Lovino... But I just..."

Closer, again. Lovino was sure the man now stood between the dining room and kitchen. He could hear the soft footsteps, so cautious and so quiet. Lovino busied himself away with his work. Pour one, and then the other, careful not to spill. He set the coffee pot back in its place and retracted both hand and rag alike.

"I've fallen."

Right behind him. Lovino stood frozen as arms wrapped around his waist. They were trembling, just as he was sure that he would if he could even move his limbs. The rag fell from his grip and landed on the floor. He could not even watch it, instead staring straight ahead at the wall before him. He could feel the breath on the back of his neck, feel the arms tighten ever so slightly. And if he paid attention to the chest that soon pressed against his back, he could feel the erratic beating of Antonio's heart.

Don't cry... Goddamnit, don't you cry, Lovino... Yet for the umpteenth time today, he could feel the tears welling in his eyes. The product of so many strong emotions, he knew. Yet somehow, these were more uplifting than the ones he had encountered before. He felt like he was floating, he felt like he was spinning. But at the same time, he felt rooted to the spot. With strong arms that held him up. With a warm glow embracing his entire being.

"I want to do this properly."

Lovino lifted his hands to allow them to rest atop Antonio's forearms. His fingertips just barely pressed into the skin he found, his thumbs rubbing in small, soothing circles. Not to calm Antonio, but to calm himself. He wanted to quiet the thundering beating of his own heart, wanted to rid his cheeks of the heat that had spread across them.

"Lovino..." The name was spoken so softly, so gently. It was as though it were rose petals atop a stream in the middle of summer. "Will you give me a chance...? Can we be something more than just friends, or a one-night fling? Can we be..."

"Lovers..." It was Lovino who finished the thought.

And there was silence. Antonio shifted behind him, and Lovino could feel panic beginning to settle in. But as soon as those arms tightened around him, the panic fled from his mind. "I was going to say boyfriends, but... Yeah. I like your version better."

Lovino snorted. And then laughed. His stomach jumped as the laughter poured forth from him, his body leaning back into the one behind him. His grip on the arms tightened and he threw his head back into the shoulder. Turning his head slightly, he reached an arm up to pull Antonio's down. "You have to be the biggest dweeb I've ever met. Boyfriends... And you claim you're from Spagna," he commented.

He felt... light. His heart felt light, his world all the brighter. And when he opened his eyes, all he could see were green hues filled with curiosity. Colour, in his monochrome world. Perhaps, Lovino mused, it was his turn to do things properly...

Lovino turned in Antonio's arms, until chests pressed together. One arm wound around Antonio's neck as the other cradled his jaw. "We'd have to work around the whole distance thing, but... If you're up for it..." The Italian murmured, eyes locked with the other man's. Ever so slowly, he drew Antonio closer, drawing him in just as he always had. Just has he had started, back when his song had danced across the sea. He drew the man closer, closer, closer still, until lips just barely brushed. "Maybe we'll work something out."

It wasn't Lovino who started the kiss. It was Antonio who pushed forward and pressed their lips together. The force of the kiss in itself startled the Italian, who let out a muffled shout at the sudden collision. Teeth knocked together momentarily, and Lovino found himself lost within those lips. His hand pushed back into curly locks and his back curved into the kiss, pressing his chest flush against Antonio's as Antonio leaned forward. Lovino tugged at the strands, desperate to pull Antonio closer. Yet they couldn't grow any closer.

But oh, how Lovino tried. He drew Antonio in, nipping at his lips and deepening the kiss until it became passionate. Tongues slid against one another as lips caressed the other. The kiss slowed, yet they did not pull away, and Lovino could hear the hum of approval from his partner. His new lover, he silently reminded himself. A smile tugged at his lips and he gave a hum of his own.

Breathless, not because of the kiss itself but because of the sheer idea of such a thing, Lovino pulled away and wound both his arms around Antonio's shoulders. The Spaniard dropped his arms to Lovino's waist. Together, they pressed their foreheads against one another. Silence overtook them both. Antonio's breath danced across Lovino's skin, as Lovino was sure that his own breath did to Antonio. Lovino found himself lost in the eyes before him, and though they were green hued, they were not of the earth.

They were of the sky. No, not the crystal blue that shone so brilliantly, but rather, the bright golden light that filtered down from above. Perhaps, then, it was the light that shone in those eyes. It wasn't always present, Lovino had noticed from the time he had laid his gaze upon them, but it was captivating. He wanted to bask in it, and having it so close, now... It was breathtaking. Something he expected out of some cheesy romance film. Yet here it was... Before him...

He could only push forward, ever so slightly, and tenderly place a kiss upon those lips. It was returned in kind, just as soft, and Lovino quietly stole another. And another. And one last one before a thought overcame him. Swallowing, he pressed his lips together and sunk his head to Antonio's shoulder, resting his forehead there instead. He allowed for his eyes to slide closed, safe and protected in those arms he had so very much yearned for in the past few days.

"Romano," he murmured quietly.

"... Mm?"

The Italian swallowed, his fingers curling into the fabric of Antonio's shirt. He lifted his head, eyes meeting Antonio's. He regarded him with a steady gaze. "My name's Romano."

He should have expected the confusion that swept through Antonio's eyes. So Feliciano hadn't filled him in on that detail... He regarded this for a moment before he emitted a sigh through his nose. His eyes flicked away, and his smile had long faded. Pulling away from Antonio's grip, Romano snatched up the rag from the floor and deposited it on the countertop. He then collected the two coffee mugs and made his way toward the dining room, motioning for the other to follow. "I'm guessing Feliciano didn't say anything to you," he spoke as he set the dishes down on the table. He then placed himself in one seat as he gestured to the other.

Pulling out the chair for himself, Antonio sat and shook his head, eyes on Romano. "No. He said you weren't always Lovino, but he didn't say anything more."

This would be interesting... Romano rested his jaw in his hand as he stared toward Antonio. He had to get it out eventually, he knew it. But how to put it... He instead glanced down to the coffee, turning the cup toward his dominant hand. "Legally, my name is Romano Giulio Vargas," he spoke, "Giulio, after my grandfather, Julius. After he died, I thought the name was unfit for me. How could I bear the name of the man I abandoned?

"So I changed it. Not legally, but with everyone I met. Starting with the cruise, I started going by another name. Lovino. I, in time, became Lovino Romano Vargas." That was the short version, he supposed. But there was more to it, and he knew that... Did he want to admit that? He didn't know, himself. Breathing out, he brought the cup to his lips and blew gently, before taking a sip. Antonio did the same, only to burn his tongue.

Romano smirked at the mistake, but simply lowered his cup and continued on, "Long story short, Lovino comes from Rovinò. Italian for 'he ruined'." Eyes were instantly on him. "In short, my name means I ruin everything I come across. Whether intentionally or accidentally."

It had left Antonio speechless, Romano realised. His eyes cast down and he stared toward the hot beverage. Gently, he swirled it in its porcelain containment. "I tell it to people I don't plan on getting close to. But if I do end up close to them, I'll give them my real name. Romano. That way... if something goes wrong... It's Lovino attached to it. Not Romano. Giulio is left unmarred and untainted, that way. It's connected to Romano — not Lovino."

For a moment, Romano allowed for Antonio to take in the information, allowed for him to process it. Romano, on the other hand, sipped away at the coffee, thankful for his beverage to keep his hands occupied. He couldn't open the gift yet; he was rude to do so without permission first, and now was not the time to ask for such. Not when he had dropped something as heavy as that on Antonio's lap...

Speaking of which, he seemed to finally be done processing it. "So... You'd like for me to call you..."

"Romano," the Italian finished with a nod. "That's my name. Not... Lovino." Now, it seemed that Antonio understood, and at the nod, Romano felt his shoulders easing. He wouldn't have to explain too much into it, then. He offered a smile at this, sipping away at the coffee before him.

"Romano..." This caught the attention of the Italian. "I like it."

Romano snorted, a small laugh coming forth from him. Liked it... How strange... It was just a name. Nonetheless, he let it go, and his eyes flicked to the gift.

"Roma."

_Say what now._

Instantly, Romano's eyes were back on Antonio, his coffee lowering quickly. His expression was blank, almost surprised at the suddenly nickname. Antonio flashed a grin, and repeated the name.

"Roma." A beat. "That's your name, right?"

A groan, and Romano swept a hand through his hair. Great... He just couldn't shake the idiocy of nicknames... Well. So much for that. He'd have to put up with it, it seemed. "Yeah... Yeah, it is," he relinquished. At least it was... comforting... A sort of bizarre comfort that came with the knowledge that someone thought of you as special enough to earn your own nickname, in their book. And it was better than Roro or something like that. Now _that_ would be embarrassing.

Though he supposed that if it were Antonio to give that nickname, he'd readily accept it.

The Spaniard broke Romano from such thoughts as he gestured to the box lying on the man's table. Romano's eyes followed the gesture, and at the indication that he could open, he reached forward and untied the bow. The string fell away, and stretching himself over his coffee, he grabbed at either sides of the box. And then stopped, his eyes on Antonio, "It's not a dildo, is it?"

Antonio stared in astonished bewilderment at the notion. "Why would it be...?" Then a laugh came from him and he leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "No, Roma, it's not a dildo! Just open it!"

Romano rolled his shoulders as he lifted the top half up, the smooth cardboard sticking to itself in his attempts to wedge it off. "Well, we're gonna be apart, and you're a good fuck. Gotta make up for it somehow," he spoke nonchalantly. He ignored the embarrassed blabberings of the Spaniard across from him, not even wanting to try to make out the Spanish that spilled from his lips.

Aha. There we go.

He set the top half aside, brows furrowing at the contents of the box. Fabric, as far as he could see. Curiosity taking root, and the blabberings quieting, Romano withdrew the first item from the box and unfolded it. A shirt. Button-up, long sleeved, off-white, and a very durable material. "Okay... So you got me clothes. Like I don't have enough already," he spoke as he set it aside.

He then withdrew the second item. A pair of... jeans? His brow furrowed all the more at the sight of them. They were... pretty heavy duty, it seemed. He huffed and folded the jeans, placing them atop the shirt. "Okay, I don't know who you really take me for, but I don't exactly wear jeans often," he commented, his eyes on Antonio now.

Antonio simply motioned toward the box. "There's more," he commented.

Well. He was already this far. Romano sat up a little straighter in order to see inside the box, reaching forward to withdraw the boots from within. Steel-toed, dark brown, lace-up... "What in the..." That would account for the weight, he presumed.

"One more thing."

Romano allowed the boots to fall to the ground and reached inside the box, pressing his fingertips against its bottom upon finding there was nothing he could feel a few centimeters above the surface. And there it was. The shifting of paper. He carefully picked it up and withdrew it, pulling it before him.

He stared at the rolling hills and the fenced areas, at the plants and trees, and at the extravagant lettering on the small flier. " _Carriedo Granja & Establos_," it read. What in the world was this...? He frowned at the writing, flipping it over to look at the back. More Spanish... Unfortunately, he could only make out a few of the words. Slowly, he shook his head, his eyes flicking to Antonio. "I don't understand, what is—"

"Remember how I mentioned I grew up on a farm?" Antonio cut in. He gestured to the flier in Romano's hands. "I told you I learned everything from my father. Turns out, he learned everything from my mother's brother. Everything he knows isn't from a Fernández, but from a Carriedo."

Yet that didn't answer his question. He didn't know what this had to do with him, do with the clothes he had pulled out. A sigh, and he lowered his hand, letting Antonio continue.

"Apparently, it's a pretty popular horse ranch and farm. They breed and sell horses, as well as crops," Antonio explained, motioning to the flier in Romano's hands. "Miguel works with Papà's business. But Francis spoke to him, and he managed to pull a few strings yesterday, and, well... They're looking for people."

Romano couldn't feel his heartbeat. Yet he could feel it wilder than before. His eyes widened, his hand lowered, and he could only stare at Antonio with his mouth agape. A job. He was being offered a job, wasn't he?

"It doesn't pay too much. But, the stablehands and the farmhands have their own housing on the property, free of charge. Water, heating, electricity... It doesn't come with cable, internet, or food, but... It's a lot more than what you can ask for."

He _was_ being an offered a job. Not just a job, but a place to live, somewhere far cheaper than in the city of Naples. He could hardly see his new lover through the tears that welled in his eyes. They threatened to fall, yet they did not.

"Y-you don't have to! I just thought... that maybe... I dunno... You like working with plants, and... stuff... So..."

"Yes."

"¿Qué?"

Romano cleared his throat and sucked in a breath, straightening his back. He couldn't jump on it. He couldn't just dive head first into this. He had to think about it, he had to actually think of what this entailed. He would have to leave Italy, be in a foreign country where he didn't even speak the language. Hell... He didn't even know where Antonio would be... And the problem regarding internet and long distance... After all, he only just started a relationship with the guy! God, he'd have to figure it all out. "I'll... think about it..." That was the best answer he could give. At least for now... He needed to know more. Much more, he felt.

Antonio breathed a sigh of relief, his hands gently curling around his drink. His lips turned up into the gentlest of smiles. "You can choose either way, Lo- Sorry, Romano," he spoke quietly. "I'm not going to influence you one way or another. But the option is there."

"Where... will you be...?"

Antonio's shoulders stiffened, and he nervously glanced away. "I'll, uh... I'll be in the main house. With my uncle," he answered. "Miguel's apparently been talking to him about my situation for a while now, and my uncle agreed to help me out. Given that my father won't let me back in, and he wants to spite him for it." Oh, that would definitely be a story for another time, Romano was sure.

Nonetheless... He wouldn't be alone... This was seeming all too good to be true. Romano pursed his lips, his head tilting ever so slightly as he regarded the man before him. The grip on his coffee tightened. "Why me?"

Antonio locked eyes with Romano, astonished, for a brief moment. His eyes were contemplative, as though trying to find the words. And once he did, his features relaxed, and a graceful smile pulled at his lips. "Because I feel it has to be you." He spoke with a certain kind of sincerity that Romano had not heard before, not from Antonio himself. Sure, the man always seemed to be speaking the truth, but to this calibre... This softness, this genuine kindness... It was all so new, and Romano could feel himself spinning from it, breathless at the mere look in the man's eyes.

It seemed that it wasn't enough for Antonio to leave it at that. He continued, his voice as soft and light as ever, "I can't explain it. Words will never make up for what I feel. But the more I think about it, the more I realise I want to get to know you better."

The feeling was mutual, Romano silently commented.

"I want to know who you are, I want to discover everything there is to know about you. I want to watch you grow and overcome everything life has thrown at you."

He was speaking of the man's past, he knew. The things he had come to experience, and Romano was quick to catch on the ounce of remorse that flicked through Antonio's eyes. Geeze, this man always wore his heart on his damn sleeve... But God, Romano would not trade it for anything. It was something far too rare in this world, and had become so very precious to the Italian.

"What I want, Romano, is to fall in love with you, over and over, just as I have been already."

That was not something Romano had expected to hear. He could feel his cheeks flush, and quietly, he sunk in his seat. He lifted his coffee cup, and with eyes that refused to leave Antonio, he sipped at his warm beverage. Yet he did not put it down. He used it as a barrier between he and Antonio, as the man simply gazed toward him.

"Congratulations, Antonio," Romano answered, "You've managed to convince me."

He didn't know where this path would take him. He didn't know where he would end up. He didn't know if he would walk or run, or even if he'd make it through. But he did know one thing for certain.

An undying flame had ignited in his soul. So long as the sun refused to stop shining, that flame would never die out, for as long as the waves would crash upon the shores of _Napoli_.

* * *

 

_"Up here, Heaven is mine_  
_I see my soul, I fly_

_"Look at me, feel me, I'm here, touch me_  
_I feel the cold asphalt, save me_  
_Save me_

_"Talk to me, listen to me, I'm here, wait for me_  
_Rain and snow on my wings, save me"_

— "Salvami"/"Sálvame" by Sonohra


	9. Epilogue: Endless Caresses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I'm back with another chapter! |D Kind of. This is the epilogue haha~! Kind of the... story after the story? Guess I wasn't done with this haha! This one's a lot short (God, A LOT shorter) but. It serves its purpose. I promise this is the last one!
> 
> As a sidenote, this whole thing is inspired by the song "Bulletproof Picasso" by Train. I suggest giving it a listen! It's very much like the song that would play at the ending credits!

We don't need a reason for anything we feel.

Emotions are always raging. Whether wanted to or not, they're always knocking at your door, reminding you of their existence. They like to taunt, they like to sneer, they like to wind you up and break you down. And just when you think you have them figured out, just when you think you have them under your thumb, something sparks them into action. No matter how big or how small that something is, it never fails to send the dominos toppling over, until you stand in the ruins of a carefully-constructed disaster.

But even when the shadows threaten to overtake, there is always a light that will be found. Even in the darkest of night, the stars shine. The sun will rise again. Somewhere, in that dark expanse, there is a flame burning, keeping someone warm and illuminating the dark world.

It's something to cling to, something to never lose sight of. That light within the darkness...

Perhaps that was what lead him here. He had spotted that light within the dark, the flickering flame in the distance. He had chased it, reached for it, called out for it. He stumbled, he fell, he scraped his knees. And when he had caught that small flame, he almost snuffed it out. Only to have it burst back into life again. Whether or not it was his own doing, well... He didn't know for certain. He could only assume that the fire had its own reason for existing, its own reason for sparking anew. He at least liked to think that he had kindled it, maybe in the slightest.

It was a strange road, he mused, that they had traveled. A meeting by pure chance that lead to a conversation. That was the first domino that fell. From there, they kept toppling over, each one colliding into the next. The pieces fell slower at times, but only picked up pace once again, until finally, it lead them here, to the chaotic disaster they found beauty and satisfaction within.

But through it all, not once had he believed it would lead him here. The wind blowing through his hair, the scent of farmland filling his nostrils, the heat of the late summer sun upon his skin... He could only stare in wonder at the scenery that passed him by. He saw it all with new eyes, he realised. Sure, he had never been to this part of the countryside. But he figured that if he had seen one, he had seen it all. How wrong he was...

The rolling hills, the shimmering waves of overgrown grass, the passing livestock... Hell, even the clouds that lazily floated past in the sky. It all seemed so very new to him, and he could only take it in with childish curiosity. He knew where he was; he had checked the map time and time again to assure they were on the right road. Yet at the same time, he felt as though he were completely and utterly lost.

"Hey, Toni."

The Spaniard heard the call over the wind and the radio, and green eyes flicked away from the passing landscape in favour of looking to the driver beside him. He felt as though he were in a dream, watching as those wavy locks bounced in the wind. "Yeah?" he answered over Spain's top hits.

Romano pressed further into the seat, one hand out the window as the other perched atop the steering wheel. His lips pursed, and his eyes flicked left and right from behind his sunglasses. "Just how far out is this place, ah? I hardly see any roads out here."

Antonio motioned ahead of them with the hand that hung outside the window. "It's still up a little further, I think. There's supposed to be a big sign." With how long they had been travelling, he understood his partner's concern. This wasn't a trip they would have taken by car. But alas, it wasn't as simple as just taking a plane. Not when it would be a one-way trip. He was sure it was weighing on the others mind, the place the Italian had called home.

The driver snorted in response and pressed on the gas a little more as they came upon a hill. Up and over, simple as that. That is, if it weren't for Antonio flinging himself across the whole dashboard the moment they reached the top, his hand outstretched.

"THERE!"

"SHIT!"

The shouts were nearly simultaneous as Romano slammed on the brakes, Antonio bracing himself against the dashboard as they lurched forward. The car slowed just before the turn, and letting out a huff, Romano spun the wheel and pulled them into the dirt driveway. "I swear to God, Antonio, I'm going to end you one of these days," he reprimanded. It was met with a nervous laugh and a quiet apology. He pressed into the gas slowly as the car took hold of the new terrain. Freeing up one hand, he reached over to lightly smack his lover's head with his knuckles and fingers. "I forgive you, but don't throw yourself across me like that when I'm drivin', Jesus Christ. That's got to be one of the most idiotic things you've ever done."

Antonio raised a brow at the notion. Oh, was that a challenge? He'd take it. "You mean, more idiotic than getting my butt stuck in that bucket?"

Romano pursed his lips and contemplated the question for a brief moment. "That was more funny than idiotic."

A shrug. "You still called me an idiot."

"And I don't normally call you an idiot?"

"Touché."

The car pulled up in front of the building he had been told would be the main house and came to a stop. A moment later and the engine switched off, just as the cloud of dissipating dust caught up with the vehicle. Romano twirled the keys into his palm as he looked to the relatively small building. "For such a large estate, they didn't exactly make use of the land," he commented.

Antonio unbuckled himself and pushed open the door, giving a glance to Romano. "That's the thing, I don't think they wanted something big and fancy. It's just them living in it," he answered. But just before he climbed out, he paused and regarded the Italian with a curious expression. "I never told you about my uncle, did I?"

Romano raised a brow as his own seat belt returned to its place. "No?"

Wow. So much time planning this whole thing out and Antonio had failed to even mention anything about his uncle... A nervous laugh, and then a sheepish grin. "Well. His only family is his husband and a cat." A hum of approval from his lover, and he pushed himself out of the car, giving a stretch. He looked over the hood of the car to the Italian, the other's eyes now revealed from behind the darkened lenses. "That's why they don't need that big of a place. It's just them," he commented.

A nod was Romano's only answer, and Antonio pushed the car door closed. As he made his way up toward the porch, he was questioned on the state of their bags, but he was quick to reassure the other about them. They'd be able to unpack later. And as he reminded his Italian lover, they didn't even know where the younger would be staying just yet. They had yet to discuss the location of the farmhand quarters.

The door swung open shortly after the knock Antonio had placed, and the homeowner and his nephew exchanged excited greetings. They babbled away in Spanish, commenting on the trip and the lengthy drive, as well as the beauty of the area and the mental and physical well-being of the two. Antonio answered and gave questions of his own, before motioning Romano up beside him and introducing him.

Without even being asked, the Spaniard served as interpreter and translator between the two, though it seemed Romano opted to instead listen with interest to the conversation taking place before him. He could not understand most of the words that spilled from both speakers, but it was nonetheless interesting to watch how they interacted with one another. In only a short matter of time, lodgings were squared away and the two were invited to supper. Tío Julio's treat, it seemed.

As the next few days passed, Romano was allowed to share Antonio's room until he could get settled in with the farmhand quarters. Work was not required of them. Tío Diego deemed it as unfit for the new arrivals, insisting instead that they spent the first few days resting and mentally preparing themselves. Through the time, Antonio learned much of his uncles, and relayed the information to his Italian-speaking partner.

Julio was a cheery man. Always had plenty to say, and would delve greatly into stories. A man with a heart larger than his head, he often showed sympathy whenever the topic of the lovers' depression came about. He admitted that yes, he knew of it through Antonio's older brother, but Miguel had failed to mention that Romano, too, suffered the same fate. (Antonio had shared that tidbit of information after Romano's approval.) He reassured the two of their security on the farm, giving his promise that he would not turn them away for something as simple as that.

All in all, Antonio had taken quite the liking to his biological uncle.

The other uncle, Diego, was of a quieter demeanor. Preferring to work in the garden over conversation, he wasn't often found in the normal discussions between Romano, Antonio, and Julio. It wasn't that he wasn't social. No, quite the contrary. On the fourth day, he did open up a little more than he had been, only to reveal that he was one who was just a tad bit shy when it came to those he didn't know, personally. It had been over lunch, when the four of them decided on an outing to a restaurant in town — about a fifteen minute drive down the same road Romano and Antonio had come from, past other farms and ranches.

After those first few days, Romano was placed in the building nearest to the fields, for he had chosen the work of farming over the work of caring for the horses. With his background in tending for plants, Tío Deigo thought it would be best to place him where he would be most comfortable. The tomato fields were in need of another hand, he had told the Italian.

Antonio, on the other hand, kept his guest room in the main house. While the quarters were well-kept, cleanly, and offered a separate room for each member of their team, it was Julio's stubborn defiance that lead to Antonio staying in the guest room. He still had to earn his keep, he was told, and he was soon to pick up his own work in the stables.

And by the end of the day, the best part of it was, Romano and Antonio were able to see each other. It was far from forbidden. If anything, the landowners welcomed Romano in with welcome arms, and though they could not communicate efficiently, they tried their best to convey their meanings through gestures — though after a few months of this, it seemed that they each began to at least understand the general meaning of the words they spoke to one another.

A knock interrupted Antonio from his writings, and his eyes flicked to the entryway just as the door swung open to reveal a worn-down Italian. The Spaniard gave a grin as he leaned back, eyes following the man as he simply walked to the bed, kicking off his shoes as he walked. "Long day?" He questioned as Romano fell forward and landed with a _FWUMP_ on the comforter. "I hope you showered. I just changed those sheets."

"I did," Romano's muffled voice replied.

He knew that it was hard work for the both of them, but really? This much? Antonio couldn't help but chuckle as he lowered his pen, pushing away from his desk. His body ached from the day's work, but he instead ignored it. He had the weekend off, a chance to rest his weary limbs and his tender feet.

"Alright, then I guess you're allowed to lay there," Antonio answered. He pushed the chair back into its place and carefully strode over to the bed. "But you know," he paused so he could sit at the edge of the bed, "I'm not gonna leave you alone." He flopped over, pivoting onto his hip, and pulled the Italian into his arms. There was a groan of protest, but Antonio chose to ignore it as he nestled into the wet locks. Sure enough, he could still smell the soap clinging to Romano's scent. He held on tighter, letting out a noise of approval at the general feeling of his lover in his arms. God, it felt like forever... Yet it was just yesterday.

Much to Antonio's delight, Romano gave up in his fidgeting soon after he was pulled over, and the Spaniard refused to relinquish his grip. Not that the other seemed to mind, however. Antonio let out a hum of approval at this, simply in bliss that he could even hold Romano like this. His eyes sliding closed, he murmured, "I don't see why you don't just take up the offer to move in with me..."

Romano shifted in Antonio's arms, rolling onto his side and pressing his forehead into the crook of the man's neck. Lazily, he let his arm flop around the other's waist, giving a loose shrug. "Don't wanna deal with your crazy uncles," he joked.

"Aww, c'mon, they're not that crazy! They just..."

"Really like partying with the farmhands and stablehands?"

"That too..." Antonio breathed out a sigh and shifted against Romano, loosening his grip. His features softened, ever so slightly. "I just miss you..." He admittedly softly.

For a moment, Romano was silent. Antonio feared he had fallen asleep, with how still he lay, his breaths shallow and slow. But the shifting told him otherwise, as Romano pulled away and rolled back onto his stomach. Propping himself up on his elbows to gaze at Antonio, he watched as the elder rolled onto his back to return the gaze. "Even if I were to room with you, I'd still be seein' you for about the same amount of time, give or take a few hours," he pointed out. He reached forward to brush a lock of hair out of his lover's eyes, before pushing his fingers into the soft curls. His eyes followed the motion. "I spend all my free time here. End up fallin' asleep with you, most nights. My room's the cleanest it's ever been, and that's because I'm never in it."

"Except to sleep," Antonio gently reminded.

A nod. "Except to sleep."

The hand slowly lowered to his jaw, and Antonio pressed his cheek into the calloused palm. They had been softer back in Italy, he noted. But he did not mind this. He had no qualms with the rough skin. If anything, it was proof of Romano's new life. Of _their_ new life.

When he opened his eyes, there was a smile, ever so gentle, that filled his gaze. He could help but to return it, his muscles tugging at the corners of his lips. He propped himself up on his elbow, his other hand reaching behind Romano's neck to pull him down for a kiss. It was sweet, and gentle, and so very loving. Antonio had long since memorised the feel of his lover's lips, but oh, each time he kissed him, it felt like the very first time... His heart still beat wildly in his chest, his hands still trembled, his breath still faltered.

He was right. He would fall in love with Romano, over and over. And God, he never wanted to stop... Even now, he could feel love blossoming once again, deep within his chest.

The kiss ended just as soft and sweetly as it had begun, and Antonio let his hand rest on the back of Romano's neck as their foreheads pressed together. He offered a smile of his own, this time, as their eyes met. "I still think you should move in," he commented.

A snort, and Romano rolled his eyes, grabbing up the pillow. He shoved it into the Spaniard's face, a smirk overtaking his lips. "And I'll have to think about that," he answered.

Despite their tired and weary bodies, so very pained from the day's hard labour, neither of them would rest that night.

For months on end, the same conversation replayed itself. A different day, a different scenario, but the same exact topic. Romano, each time, refused the offer, even bringing up not wanting to intrude on the uncles. With each passing day, their love only seemed to grow, and Antonio only proved himself to be right, each and every time he laid eyes upon the wondrous beauty he could call his own. He learned just who Romano was, he learned him inside and out, yet at the same time, he felt as if he didn't know the man at all.

Romano was a tricky one, he had come to realise. No, he was not an ever-changing being. He did have a pattern to his actions, to his own existence. But it was in the way that fire was unpredictable. Romano was awe-inspiring, gorgeous, warm, so very protective. He was passionate about the things he loved, and that was the surefire way to have him rambling like an excited child on Christmas Day. Given that he would actually open up to you, that is.

Antonio had the pleasure of seeing just this.

Winter came and winter left. Spring soon followed, and the farmwork picked up once more. Romano had been promoted to higher position, and instructed others on how to grow and tend to the crops, and though his hours had been cut, his pay had been raised to accommodate that. Spring soon turned to summer, and in the thick summer heat of the Spanish fields, the pair continued their duties of their lives. It had become a passion of the both of theirs, it seemed; Antonio caring for the horses, and Romano caring for the plants.

As the days progressed, new rumours began to sweep through the quarters. The farm would be handed down, in time, to a younger suitor. One who showed great interest in continuing on the Carriedo name. Or at least the business itself. Romano was quick to catch the rumour, himself, but when he confronted Antonio with it, the man simply laughed nervously and said it would only happen under special circumstances.

Romano just didn't know that Antonio was true to his word. The special circumstances had been set in place; Antonio just had played it off as if there were none.

That was all about to change, however.

Walking hand-in-hand, the pair roamed the streets of the small village, talking away of their adventures on the estate. Antonio told of the new foal that had been born only a few weeks prior, while Romano spoke of a young boy by the name of Mateo who had taken a liking to him. A younger sibling, Romano had commented with pride. Antonio was quick to catch this, however, and teasingly shot back about the boy instead being their son, for Mateo was also one who ran errands for the stables. This earned bright red cheeks and flustered stutterings, before Romano opted to instead lightly shove into Antonio with his shoulder, eyes darting away.

Antonio merely laughed at this, his fingers tightening around Romano's, and reassured the other that he was simply joking. A huff as a response, and he gently ran his thumb along the outside of Romano's hand.

His eyes flicked away from his lover, focusing instead on the darkening sky above them. Already, it seemed there were stars beginning to peek through the sparse clouds. "Aah, man... It's really been a year, huh...?" A questioning hum from beside him and Antonio chuckled, glancing once again to Romano. "You didn't notice? It's been a year since we got together."

Romano regarded Antonio for a moment before staring ahead of them. His cheeks tinted pink. "No, I noticed. Just didn't realise you were talkin' about that." He drove his free hand into his pocket, squaring his shoulder as he did so. Cute...

Antonio's gaze softened as he looked to his lover, gently coaxing him to the side of the street. Just beside them lay the entrance to the park, where couples strolled with their hands interlaced, despite the heat of summer's night. "Romano..." he spoke quietly to catch the man's attention. It worked. As soon as eyes were upon him, he lifted his free hand to brush a lock of hair back, tucking it behind an ear. He then ran his knuckles, ever so gently, down Romano's cheek. The Italian leaned into the gentle touch. "You've made me... the happiest I've ever been. You gave me a chance to fix what I ruined.

"I know I... haven't done the best in my past." His eyes flicked away and his hand lowered, but not without the gentlest of kisses to his knuckles on its descent.

"Neither have I. We don't exactly have the cleanest of records, idiot."

"Shush, just let me speak." A chuckle from the man before him, and Antonio started again. "The point is... You let me start over. Completely and entirely.

"I know... Neither of us are 'fixed' or 'cured.' There are still nights we cry, still nights we wonder why we're even here..." Romano's gaze flicked away, but Antonio brought it back by cupping the other's chin in his forefinger and thumb. "But we're not alone. You gave me something nobody else has ever given me before.

"Romano, you gave me my life back."

Romano's lips parted, but before he could speak Antonio was lowering. He stared in mild confusion, and then surprise, as the man dipped down to one knee, his hand fishing into his jeans pocket.

And from within, he withdrew a small box. "It's... It's not much." His hands trembled violently as he pulled away from Romano. His voice cracked as he spoke, his eyes flicking down as he opened the small box. "But I... I hope you like it." It was a simple gold band. No gems, nothing special. Just a simple gold band.

When his gaze was back to Romano, he noticed instantly the other's eyes were as wide as they could be, his mouth slightly agape. He swallowed thickly, and in the steadiest tone he could muster, "Romano Giulio Vargas... Vuoi sposarmi?" He tried his best. God, he tried his absolute best not to butcher the pronunciation... But with so many phone calls to Feliciano, so many hours of practicing, he hoped he got it right.

Out of all the possible outcomes, he did not expect to suddenly be met with laughter.

Romano had been staring silently, but after a short moment, he snorted, until laughter poured from him. He wiped tears from his eyes with the butt of his palm, waving his hand dismissively as he spouted Italian apologies. He then reached into his pocket, "I don't mean to laugh, it's just," he withdrew a box, "You beat me to it." Chuckling ensued and he sniffled, wiping at his eyes. "O santo cielo... And here I was, so worried about..." His voice trailed off in a fit of chuckles as he opened the box and presented his own ring — a silver band.

"Get up off your knee, you doofus." Antonio did, staring in shock toward the Italian. "C'mon, give me that and I'll give you this."

Hesitantly, Antonio stared. His eyes flicked from Romano, to the ring in his own hand, to Romano again. "So that's..."

Romano nodded. "Sì. Sì, Antonio, sì," he whispered.

Laughing loudly, Antonio pushed forward and wrapped his arms around Romano's waist, lifting him off the ground in a bone-crushing hug. Romano was quick to return the hug with just the same amount of force, burying his face into the crook of his lover's neck. "Yes... He said yes!" Antonio laughed as he kissed at Romano's face, again and again, and then finally, his lips. He had forgotten about the rings, forgotten about even trading them. Right now, there was only Romano, there were only his lips, only his answer. The rings could come later.

So there you have it. We don't need a reason for anything we feel. Whether it's a good feeling, or a bad feeling. Whether tears of joy, or tears of sorrow. Sorrow comes, sorrow goes, just as happiness may come and go. Emotions are fickle things, in that way. They're as unpredictable as a raging fire, yet those happier ones will always return just as the sun will surely rise. You just have to be sure to look for the light in the darkness, no matter how faint it may be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I may have forgotten to say this in the last chapter... Thank you so much for everything, everyone. Thank you so much for sticking with me, for reading and reviewing, for following and favouriting. It really means a lot to me, you don't even know. Thanks to your guys' support, this story really blossomed and has become something I'm proud of /)/w/(\ I just hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Well. With this, I bid Una Notte A Napoli a farewell.
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> ~Alexander Ryan


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